The Crow: Gotham's Angel
by Rorschachsidekick1
Summary: What if Bruce was killed with his parents? What if the mystical crow visited Bruce's grave in Gotham? Read of a new vengeful path for Bruce Wayne in this alternate reality!
1. Chapter 1

**_DISCLAIMER: I don't own Batman, The Crow_** , **any of related characters besides OC's, etc. this is a work in progress and one of my first few fanfics made so please review. Also plz note that I have deliberately made both Bruce's origins/character and gotham city different to follow up with the plot. That said, read, enjoy, and review.**

A smoky, polluted, cloudy sky overlooked Gotham City. Dark red spirals of smoke rose and masked the skies. If one had never heard of the city by name, they could easily mistaken it for Hell.

In the corner between two of the hundreds gloomy streets, a small crowd formed over the corpses of three: A man, a woman, and a young boy. All three laid down on the concrete pavement of the streets, in a large of puddle of blood.

Each of the three had large wounds, caused by bullets. The man, had two wounds, one on his side and one on his abdomen. The women had one, simply and straight on her heart on the left side. The child had the worse of the wounds. Several gunshot wounds. One on his abdomen, two each on his shoulders, and three on his back as a whole. Forensics could tell that all of those wounds came from separate guns.

Each of them had their eyes and mouths were open in an eternal grimace of horror. Ain't exactly to believe this kinda thing happened in Crime Alley. Sirens echoed off the alley walls as Police checked the scene. A miracle they showed up.

Lieutenant Gordon glanced the scene with a grimaced look. He mentally analyzed the scene, listed the technicalities. Multiple homicide, three victims; Two males, one female. Multiple bullet shells surrounding the scene, several found in the victims' bodies. Supposedly multiple assailants and different firearms. Then recognition hit him.

"Thomas, Martha, and Bruce Wayne. Gotham's most wealthy and social family. Must have been on their way home and then attacked. Possible mugging." He said to his fellow officers.

"Why would they cut through here? When you're rich as them, this place is the worst place to be. Who in their right mind would cut through here?" The other cop said.

"Nobody", was the sad answer.

In the street between the alley, a stretcher was wheeled fast towards an ambulance. They realized the child was somewhat still alive, his body continuing to twitch and spasms as some kind of struggle. A young girl approached the boy on the stretcher.

"Bruce!"

But lieutenant Gordon gently pushed her back. "Stand back, kid."

The boy was panting in pain, physically twitching of disrupted nerves, managing to cough up one word: "S-Selina".

"Take it easy, kid. We got to get you to hospital right now. Just lie down". Gordon told Bruce, not wanting to exert the boy more than he could possibly be capable of right now.

Gordon turned to the teenage girl. She was blonde, short hair tied up, dressed in casual clothes. The holes in her black stockings and the number of necklaces and chains dangling from her neck gave her a punk touch. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"You Selina?", he asked her.

"Yeah. You lied to Bruce. And now you're gonna lie to me about him. He's gonna die, isn't he?"

"Now, come on, he's gonna be fine, okay?", he said, with the most unsure tone in his voice.

Bruce Wayne fought against death for thirty hours, but death won the battle. His bloody, contused, bruised, wounded and outraged body was buried near his parents' graves. As a family. Could a family's love set things right, at least partially? If Love came to an agreement with Rage, they could make up a third, more powerful force, Revenge.

*A year later*

Selina Kyle entered the cemetery, where her adopted and only family was buried. The cemetery plot replaced the luxurious manor for them. Selina placed flowers on each tomb, the bright colors sharply contrasting with the gloom of the misty graveyard, almost as the symbol of a clownish illusion of life in a world of death.

It was like it was just yesterday that Thomas and Martha Wayne had saved her from being a victim of a child sexual slavery ring. She remembered how hard they fought the system to adopt her. She smiles as she remembers how kind of a brother Bruce was to her. She sheds a tear as sad memories flooded her head.

Suddenly, Selina heard a croak; and then she saw the black figure of a crow landing on Bruce's tomb. Selina looked at the crow with curiosity. To her, this strange bird was an interesting creature: it may not have been a cheerful birdie, with its jet black feathers, rather ungraceful figure and scratchy voice; yet she liked it, just as we unconsciously like the irregular, nonconforming charm of the sublime.

"What are you, the night watchman?", she jokingly asked the crow.

The volatile just cawed again as an answer. The rain started to fall, so Selina walked away, failing to notice the crow peck Bruce's tombstone.

Nobody could have imagined that it was knocking on the door that divided the living from the dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: For this chapter, I have selected Jerome and Tommy from the Series, Gotham, as a means to complete the quartet of thugs. Jerome and Tommy are the underage equivalents to Joker and Hush to those who don't watch. I don't own the characters. Moving on!**

Four men were vandalizing a game arcade, breaking every glass and forcing every lock. And laughing. A hideous, nasty, intolerable laughing. One of them set the timer on a bomb. Then, pointing their fists up in alternate movements, like a clumsy dance of victory, they screamed.

"Blowing to hell! Blowing to hell!"

And, always guffawing, they got in a red Mustang, searching elsewhere for their wicked fun. They soon reached The Sin Kitty, a squalid dive in which they usually spent a lot of time.

They started drinking a shot after another, just as if their brains weren't altered enough. One of them, red haired and with a insane grin, put a cigarette bud on his tongue and swallowed it together with his shot. Another one, dark curly hair, a smug expression on his face and silky smooth voice, congratulated the ginger.

"Not bad, Jerome, not bad."

Another one of the gang, skinny, with shiny blue eyes and thinning hair capped covered,put a bullet on his tongue and toasted.

"Here's to Falcone's orders, to let loose and give gotham hell!" he said, and drank his shot of whisky and bullet. Then he boastfully put the burnt end of his cigar on his tongue, exciting the hilarity of his friends.

"Are you out of your mother-fuckin' mind, Chill?", said, among laughter, the last one of them, a muscular tanned teen with long, black hair slicked back. He then stopped his curly-haired, smug-looking friend from drinking his shot, provoking him: "Preppy pussies drink last."

The curly-haired obviously got angry, pulled out his gun and pointed it at the tanned one: "Fuck you, Stanley boy."

Stan Tin Tin pulled out one of his huge knives and held it to his friend's throat: "It ain't even loaded, Tommy."

Jerome, the smiling ginger, cut in pointing his gun at Stan: "This one is," but Stan pulled out another knife.

Finally Chill, the skinny one, pointed his gun at each of them in turn: "Which one of you motherfuckers wants to bet me this one isn't loaded?"

But instead of doing the only wise thing in their lives by killing each other, they burst into laughter and screamed again, fists up, their wicked motto:

"Blowing it to hell! Blowing it to hell!"

A blonde waitress, pale, hair in pig tails, slow and with eyes heavily circled, possibly a drug addict, approached their table.

"Here's your drinks. Put your guns away, guys," she said meekly.

"How ya doin' Harley?" Said Jerome

They began to put their dirty hands on their new toy, and she let them. She was Harley Quinzel, teenage waitress, street walker, and Jerome's love toy.

The rain was falling heavily. It was like the sky was crying in pain. Or out of anger.

In the graveyard, the crow perched on Bruce's tombstone, and waited. The wet ground where Bruce Wayne was buried began to move, like a fetus kicking its mother's womb. Then, under the crow's tiny eyes, the grave opened, and a pale, tapered hand came out and clawed the mud. Out of the eternal darkness of the grave, the body of Bruce Wayne crawled out, and collapsed on the ground, twitching and writhing in agony under the cold rain. His body had been delicately enwrapped in a dark black and white suit tailored for a ten year old before burial. The young boy cried to the heavens, a cry that was absolutely inhuman.

The crow cawed at him, as if trying to snap him out. He saw it, and when the crow rose in the air and flew towards the graveyard gates, he instinctively felt he had to trust this bird, and so he rose, trembling, and followed it.

The crow led him to the manor he once called home, with his parents and adopted sister, Selina. It was a mess, obviously nobody had touched anything since that damned night, a year before. A fluffy white cat received him and mewed.

"Iris," he said, and took the cat in his arms.

Suddenly, the sharp, painful blade of a flashback hit him, hurting him to the core. He fell with his knees on the floor, hands in his black tangled hair, and let himself being torn apart by those horrid memories.

*Flashback*

They had exited the theater. A family of three, walking into the humid night. Would have been a family of four, but his parents had allowed Selina to visit a friend in a nearby hospital that night. The three Wayne had attempted to cut through the alley to get to their car. But then tragedy struck.

Four figures came out of the shadows of the alley, firearms shown in their hands. It all happened in a few minutes. The one assumed to be leader, pointing his gun at them, demanding their money. His father, Thomas quickly tossed them his wallet, hoping that would satisfy them. Oh, but he was wrong.

One of the assailants, ginger hair and crazy grin, ran up to his mother, attempting to snatch her pearl necklace around her neck. Thomas attempted to intervene but he was halted by several bullets fired at him, killing him in the ordeal.

As his mother screamed in shock and horror, the ginger assailant silence her with a gunshot of his own. And before Bruce knew it, gunshots fired at him as well. Several bullets flying through his skin and muscles, sending him straight to the ground. Paralyzed yet still conscious and senses still active.

And he was unable to do anything to stop them was further harming his mother, who also was still conscious and alive.

(*Warning: Explicit!*)

They grabbed her, punched her, kissed her roughly, then punched her again sending her to the concrete floor. Then she was grabbed again, her dress torn, and she was pinned on the ground. Stan caressed her with the pointy edge of his knife. He cut her throat, choking the piercing sound of her cries. The skirt of her dress lifted up, her panties forcefully removed. Her blouse was torn open, her bra and cleavage revealed and groped at. Then, in turn, they began to feast with her body.

Meanwhile, Bruce, conscious and yet paralyzed, couldn't so much as lift a finger or voice protest towards them. His father killed, his mother ravaged in front of him. The last things Bruce remembered was the face of lieutenant Gordon and his last few hours of agony.

*End of Flashback*

While reviving the last, horrible memories of his life, Bruce had tried to suffocate the unendurable pain by clenching his fists on the jagged frames of a circular window, where the glass had been cracked to pieces. When he let go, he looked at his palms, and saw two large wounds miraculously heal, close and disappear in a few seconds.

Bruce moved slowly to a dresser with a mirror on it, and lighted some candles. Touching what remained of his belongings, he remembered his tender moments with Selina. Only with Selina he felt complete as a person. Selina was everything he could have ever desired. Every single moment spent with her made him feel like they were in a poem: magical and eternal. He loved poems, and he loved Selina. She would never get tired of him saying it. They would spend whole hours with each other. And now it was over…he and his parents humiliated and killed like that… Someone out of the blue had managed to break in the sacred love he had for his family, and swiped away out of Selina's life, and vice-versa.

His memory with his parents was too much, and Bruce couldn't take anymore. He punched the mirror in anguish, and threw the candles on the floor. He opened a drawer and pulled out a Fools mask he and Selina for one Halloween night. Halloween. Of course! He turned over and saw his costume from that night. A tight black shirt and pants, a intimidating atmosphere around it.

Even if his heart wasn't beating anymore, he could feel an increasing anger shaking his soul, while the mission for which the crow had brought him back was starting to get clearer and clearer in his mind. It can't end like this, he thought. But now I'm back. I'm back… and… invincible!

Under the crow's watchful eye, Bruce began to transform: he put the white mask upon his face. Pale as virgin snow. Black marking illustrated around the eyes and lips of the mask, part of its appearance and design. He looked his new reflection. the sweet, calm, delicate-featured face of Bruce Wayne as a living was now replaced by a furious yet comedic clownish mask. He then found his favorite pair of leather boots and wore them. Finally, he put the comedic mask over his wet messy hair, bent over to give Iris an affectionate stroke, and with the crow perched on his shoulder, he walked to the circular window and looked over the sinful city.

A lightning illuminated his grim face. In his veins blood wasn't running anymore. In his veins ran rage.


	3. Chapter 3

A loud swearing was coming from the entrance of Sherman's pawn shop. Sherman Fine, the owner, was a tall, thin man with beady eyes and such a voice that the crow's cawing, in comparison, sounded like a nightingale's song. Sherman and Stan were arguing over some blood-stained merchandise Stan was trying to trade. Finally, Sherman managed to send Stan away, seeing him out with a politically incorrect insult. Stan returned the courtesy, gave him the finger and closed the gate.

"Lucky I didn't stab your skinny ass", he muttered, and walked off.

Meanwhile, several meters above the squalid maze, a crow was flying over the rooftops; with the same gracefulness, a boy followed, running noiselessly across the roofs. The dark colors of his clothing that masked him made him look like a giant, _mysterious,_ shadow.

Suddenly, the crow landed, and Bruce stopped beside it. A familiar image formed in front of his gray-blue eyes: a muscular tanned teen with a trench coat. One of them. The piece of shit that cut his mother's throat. And there he was, right below him.

Bruce let himself fall down, and with the lightness of a cat he landed on her feet, some steps far from Stan. The odious knife-thrower saw a white, masked figure coming straight towards him and, much strange to him, he began to feel uneasy. Then the figure got more sharpened before his eyes: a punk boy with a clown mask. He snickered.

"What happened to you, crackhead? Halloween ain't for another three months!"

But, very much stranger to him, as the punk clown got closer and closer, his feeling of unease began to turn into something else. Fear. He pulled a knife and challenged him.

"Come on, chuckles."

Before the blade could touch him, Bruce had already pinned him down in the mud, and they fought. More surprised than angered, Stan hit him in the face with a powerful fist, and the clown , showing no sign of pain, turned his face back to him and smiled, a smile that froze Stan's blood. He punched him square in the face, sending him against a wall. Tin Tin was stunned and scared. This kid was nearly a third of his size, but three times stronger. Something was wrong.

The clownish child went to him and kept him pinned against the wall.

"Murderer!", he growled into his face.

"I ain't murdered nobody, I don't even know you, what the fuck you want?", he cried like a little boy.

"I want you to tell me a story. A man, a woman, and a child in an alley, a year ago." There was an increasing rage in her voice. "You killed them in crime alley . I'm sure you remember the woman… You cut her and raped her!"

"Yeah, yeah, well, a couple of rich fuckers, whatever. Why the fuck do you care?"

Bruce punched him dead square in the face.

"They were the Wayne's! You shot them! Killed them! Even the child!"

"Yeah, the Wayne's...I gave them a fun time, shanked the bitch's ass, and I'm sure they all loved it!"Stan insinuated, then suddenly, taking advantage of Bruce's painful memory, he hit him hard with his head. Then he took a lead pipe and began hitting him on the back.

"Let me tell you about murder", he shouted, "it's fun, it's easy!"

That's the problem, Bruce thought angrily. It's too easy. Dying is so easy, while fighting to survive is so hard…

The blows with the lead pipe would have left even a bodybuilder with broken bones, but Bruce got himself up effortlessly, fixing his mask and facing him. Deep inside, Stan was scared to death, there was something definitely unnatural in this kid. But he didn't give up. He took off his trench coat, and pulled two knives.

"I'd like you to meet two buddies of mine. We never miss."

He threw his first knife, but Bruce ducked it. Stan tried to repress the uneasiness thinking it was only luck; but when he threw his second knife and Bruce deftly batted it away, he began to worry.

"Try again, keep trying", he said, with a hint of mockery in his voice.

Maddened, Stan threw a third knife, and this time Bruce caught it between his hands. Before Stan had the time to realize he was in trouble, Bruce threw the knife back at him, nailing him in the wall by the shoulder. In a flash he was before him, pulling a knife and pointing the blade at him.

"My parents wouldn't want me to murder you," Said Bruce, causing Stan to let out a breath of relief. Until Bruce spoke again: "But my parents aren't here anymore. Thanks to you."

And he stabbed Stan square in the chest. Luckily he didn't pass away at once. Bruce drew some precious information out of him, then slowly cut his throat. He used his knives to stab him in each organ and watched him die, enjoying every second of his agony.

Selina skated towards The Sin Kitty, and entered the dive. At one of the tables she spotted her friend, Harley, necking with Jerome, Aka, J. She approached them and boldly sat at their table, letting out a "ahem" to get their attention. Seeing her, the two looked annoyed.

"I told you to stay outta here Selina", Harley weakly said.

"So I guess you're coming home late and wet again, huh, Harleen? And I don't mean from the rain" She responded.

Selina had stopped to call her 'Harley' a long time before. It was senseless. Harleen had barely taken care of her when she was forced back on the street, and now she didn't even seem to care if her own friend was alive or not. Yet Selina didn't hate her. The crafty teenager knew it was because of drugs, and despite feeling so loathed at the sight of her own friend so weak, so pale, dressed like a bitch and surrounded by the scumbags' dirty attentions, she kept caring about Harleen.

"She's busy", Jerome unpleasantly replied, "Go be on your back somewhere, charity case."

"Go to hell"

Harley gave her some money. "Get some food." It would have been taken seriously if she didn't moan as she said it. It was quite obvious to Selina that Jerome was pleasuring the girl underneath the table.

"Somebody already bought me dinner.", Selina said. She had been offered dinner by Lieutenant Gordon earlier that night. They had become close friends since the Wayne's death. After forcefully becoming a street walker, Gordon is the only kind person to befriend her.

"A policeman", she added, looking at Jerome and hoping to see him behind bars for the rest of his useless life. Then she took the money and walked off.

Bruce, Mr.&Mrs. Wayne, I miss you so bad, my family, Selina thought, with tears in her eyes.

Lieutenant Gordon and his boss Officer Flass watched Stan's body being carried off. It looked like a giant, bloody pincushion. On the wall, a huge crow had been sketched with Stan's blood.

"Who's this sack of shit?", Flass asked.

"That's Stan, one of Chill's men. I think you can rule out 'accidental death'", Gordon replied.

"Chill? Don't any of these street-demons have real grown-up names?", Flass commented, snickering.

Gordon was serious. "It doesn't look like your usual gang crap."

"Come on Jimmy, spare me. You're a beat cop now, so be a beat cop."

"I'm supposed to thank you for that, right?", Gordon said irritably.

"A word to the wise," Flass said. "Watch your fucking mouth."

Then Flass's eye was caught by the giant crow blood-sketch. "And what the hell is that?"

"I call it blood, detective," Gordon said. "But I suppose you'll write it up as… graffiti", he finished with sarcasm.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherman Fine sat behind the counter, polishing the glass surfaces like he did after closing every night, when , like most nights, he was disturbed by a tapping on the locked door of the store. Assuming it to be a drunk unaware of the time, he simply called out, "We're closed. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

But, what he hadn't expected, was the door to go flying across the bar, and slam into a wall on the opposite side of the establishment. Sherman turned, terrified, for a lack of a better word.

Bruce stepped in,and leaned on the door frame, saying just loud enough for Sherman to hear him, "Suddenly, I heard a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. You heard me rapping, didn't you, Mr. Fine?"

Sherman was now somewhat shocked. A small child who looks like a clown from hell, just busted down his locked steel door, and enters quoting Edgar Allen Poe.

"Who are you?" Sherman said, his voice a few octaves higher out of fear, though he didn't notice. He looked across the room to the destroyed door. "What are you?"

"Allow me to kill two birds with one stone," Bruce said amiably. "Spirit of vengeance."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Sherman said, rapidly become panicked by his lack of control of the situation. The man was on the verge of hyperventilating. This bizarre, trespassing, little cretin keeps on speaking in riddles!

"It means I need something from your inventory ," Bruce said pointedly, walking over to lean over the counter imposingly. "A pearl

necklace, about a year old of trade."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherman said, deadpan. He had seen these crazy creatures of the night before. If he bluffed well enough, they went away.

"Wrong answer!" Bruce said, sounding exasperated and disappointed. He grabbed him with supernatural speed, swung him over the counter, and sent him hurtling into a heavy oaken table, exclaiming in terror.

"Now," Bruce said, calmly, as if he hadn't just assaulted the man, as he knelt down beside him. "Repeat. Pearl necklace, year old. Now. Before I get mean."

"Jewelry. In that metal box...by your left." The man panted heavily. Apparently being thrown a couple feet away takes a lot out of a person. Oh well, thought Bruce, need mothers necklace.

Using whatever bestowed strength of his to tear off the lock off the box. Closing his eyes, scouring through the various jewelry, until he stopped. In his hand was the necklace, memories and flashbacks of his mother and family flooding his mind. Stuffing the necklace in his pocket, snatching a few jeweled

rocks , and casually tossing the box aside.

He cautiously pulled out from his other pocket, a revolver he stole from Stan's corpse. He sternly walked up to Sherman, who had just recovered from the daze of being tossed across the room. Aiming the gun at him, as a means of intimidation for cooperation. And it worked.

"Oh god! Please don't! I didn't do anything I swear! Have mercy!" Sherman begged, and had no problem doing so. He wasn't one too proud to beg for his life.

"Mercy? That used to be something my parents tried to teach me. They died before they could get the message through to me." Bruce coldly, remembering why he's doing this, not letting morality get in the way. "And besides..."

He decided to complete the sentence by gently chucking the rings and jeweled rocks from the box at him. "Each one of these was a life, that you helped destroy for profit." Bruce resumed his aim of the gun on Sherman, this time cocking it.

"Now. All of Stan's little party troopers. Tell what you know. Names, places, the works. And if I don't like the answer, I pull the trigger." Threatened Bruce.

"Chill," Sherman wheezed, struggling to breathe. "Jerome, and some prep name Tom Elliot."

"There's a start. Places? Whereabouts?" Bruce furthered his questioning

"They usually hang around the east side of the city. That Red light district you know. Jerome practically bangs anything with a heartbeat and skirt on. He lives above the Sin Kitty club. Likes to live near the action. He does dealings with those pills. Not sure what kind, just hallucinogenics."

"And the other two? Tom and Chill?"

"Tommy boy lives in the heart of Gotham, right between police station and Carmine Falcone's nearest front. As for Chill, he deals in black market dealings nowadays. Weapons, explosive powder, things like that. Lives up in the north part of town."

Sherman looked at Bruce, and implored. "Look, that's all I've got. Please...just let me go."

Bruce pondered the thought for a moment, before stepping back, and turning to leave. "If you see them before I do, tell them death is coming for them. All of them."

Sherman watched him go. "You know they'll kill you right? You don't stand a ghost of a chance!"

Bruce paused. "You know, Mister Fine, you aren't as clean as you wish to be".

Sherman frowned in confusion, "Huh? What do you mean?"

Bruce remained silent for a second, taking a sniff of the air, "Is that gasoline I smell?"

Sherman frowned more into confusion, until he took notice of the spilled cylinder of gasoline, instantly connecting the dots, meaning...

"No, no, no, please no!"

Bruce aimed the stolen firearm at the spilled liquid, pulling the trigger. And indeed, father was right. These things do have a kicking recoil. The bullet ignited a spark, igniting a trailing trend of flames.

"Jesus Christ in a taxi cab!" Exclaimed Sherman, who swiftly rushed out the fire exit.

Bruce didn't move. Bruce didn't mind. The fires embrace was the warmest thing after being resurrected in a world so cold. It kindly reminded him of the warmth he felt from his mother's hugs, the fireplace back at the manor, even the time he and Selina had to share a sleeping bag.

Oh memories.

'Oh well. Time to catch the next scoundrel' Bruce thought exiting the flames, 'This gives me a idea to add a dash of hell in the next one'

"What do you mean," he's dead"?" Chill thundered, his voice echoing throughout the throne room.

The courier's legs shook, but he stood his ground. "Just that, sir. He's passed on. He has ceased to be. He's expired and gone to meet his maker. He's a stiff. Bereft of life, he rests in peace. His metabolic processes are now history. He's kicked the bucket; he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. He is an ex-human being ."

"That was meant to be rhetorical, and you know it, you smarmy little-"

"Now, now, Chill, dear friend," Carmine said, looking rather bored with the whole affair. "Smarmy he may be, but he has brought us important information, and should be rewarded thus. Does...$1500 sound appropriate to you?"

The courier was stunned. Fifteen hundred dollars would supply he and his family for the remainder of the month. "Yes, mister Falcone. Thank you, sir."

"Regardless of what you hear on the streets, I am not a cruel person," Falcone said, his eyes betraying his apathy. "Now go."

"Yes, sir," the underling said, hurrying out.

Chill turned to his commander-in-chief and looked at him questioningly.

"Good public reputation, my friend," Carmine said, smiling. "He will tell his friends, who will tell their friends, and it will spread like wild-fire that loyalty to me is rewarded, while rebellion is eliminated with extreme prejudice."

"I...see," Chill said, beginning to understand. "But, what do we do about Stan's killer?"

"It was probably an unfortunate turn of events," Carmine said. "We will simply have to wait and see if anymore comes of it."

This did not satisfy Chill, but he knew better than to disagree with his employer. So, he simply nodded. "I suppose we will."

It was dark. If Harley hadn't been dosed up on those pills that Jerome brought with him every time he came by, Ivy would have been irate, given how dangerous the eastern side was at night. Ivy shivered in the cold. Normally, she would have returned to her home, but when Jerome and Harley were swallowing and dosing those pills, they did strange, nasty things to each other, that frightened even her, and on occasion, Jerome would offer to do those things to her. No, it was better on the streets. It was safer.

Ivy heard the distinct sound of walking on the sidewalk, and sank back into wall as much as she could, hoping she wouldn't be seen.

She saw a boy, a child at that, dressed in black, face completely masked with a fools mask she swore she saw somewhere, stop in front of the tenement building. He had a bird on her shoulder, which was odd to Ivy, for she had never seen a bird quite like that. She stared, mystified by the stranger, when the crow cawed. Startled, she jumped, kicking a stone on accident. The masked clown turned, spotting her. Both were silent, for a time.

"Shouldn't you be home?" He asked quietly. "It's not safe out here."

"Safer than home," Ivy said, still not taking her eyes off the stranger.

"Why not?" Stranger asked, walking to her, so as to look the child in the eye.

"My friend's boyfriend," Ivy said, spitting the phrase like it was poison. "He deals in those freaky pills, and my friend's hooked. They do weird, awful things when they've guzzled them down."

The strangers questioning furrowed. "What's his name?"

"Jerome " she said.

"What if I told you that I could fix it? Get rid of Jerome , and help your friend ?"

"Can you?" Ivy asked, almost hopefully, almost crying with relief when she recieved a slow nod in return.

"I can," Stranger said, before rising. "Now, I have something I need to take care of. When I'm done, we'll both be better off."

Jerome swallowed deeply, enjoying the taste of the pill, and the warmth of the woman beneath him. Not a bad birthday, he thought to himself.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything," a voice from just inside the front door said in a superior tone.

Jerome turned, to see a young man dressed in black, with a bird on her shoulder, staring at him contemptuously. He was even wearing a fucking clown mask!

The woman beneath him, a blonde haired teen named Harley, squirmed out from underneath him, and looked at Bruce with glazed eyed. "wh-who the fuck are you?"

Harley turned to Jerome . "Who is he?"

"Oh, can it," Bruce said. "My business is with him, not you. For now."

Harley , startled by the tone of Bruce's voice, shut up.

Jerome,refusing to be intimidated, stood up, stark naked, and took a gun from on the table to his left, and held it up so Bruce could clearly see it. "I think it's time you took your bird and left, freako."

Bruce, smiling, held her arms out wide. "Go ahead, J. I'm right in front of you."

Jerome needed no further encouragement. He cocked the hammer back, and fired the bullet, as precise as he could. It landed with a satisfying, wet, thump in Bruce's throat.

Bruce, feeling the need to put on a show, thrashed about, clutching at his throat, a horrified look on his face.

Jerome , drugged out and sadistic, started laughing, joined by Harley. "He shoots, he scores!"

Bruce turned to face, her horrified look turning into a sadistic smile of his own, as he plucked the bullet out, and ran his fingers over where the bullet had once been.

"H-holy shit," Jerome breathed, unable to think of anything funny to say. Harley, drugged out as she was, didn't say anything, but tried to work out what she had just seen using the dust motes floating around in the air.

"Now, what I was thinking," Bruce said, walking towards Jerome slowly. "Was that you would apologize, for killing my family and the-"

Jerome fired another round, this one landing in him chest.

"Ow," Bruce growled, plucking the bullet out and tossing it to the floor before continuing. "Then we'd see to killing you, followed by-"

Jerome fires yet another bullet, panicking. "Don't you ever fucking die?"

"Your eternal punishment in whatever godforsaken hell you go to," Bruce said, grabbing a needle from the table, and rammed it into his thigh.

"How...how did you..." Jerome said, somewhat dazed.

Bruce grabbed Jerome, and dragged him into the bedroom, where he kept the pills.

"Remember Martha and Thomas?" she snarled, holding a capsule in front of Jerome's face. "You tried to snatch a Pearl necklace from her when you and your buddies attacked her and him , being the man he was, tried to stop you"

"That's what you're here for?" Jerome said, a little unimpressed. "Rich fuckers and their kid die, and now you're pissy, so you're taking it out on me?"

"They were family!" Bruce shouted, slamming him into the wall, before calming down somewhat, and throwing Jerome to the floor. He grabbed the bowl of unlabeled pills, and knelt down beside him, holding one of the pills in front of his face.

"You know," he said. "I recall someone saying the only way to get a good high off of these is to burn them and inhale the fumes. Ingesting them kills you. Be a buddy and open your mouth, would you?"

Jerome blanched, and shook his head vigorously.

"I said," Bruce reiterated, gripping his jaw tightly. "Open your fucking mouth."

Bruce tore his mouth open, tearing his cheeks to allow for his jaw to open wider. He dropped the pills in his hand into his mouth, before grabbing another handful and forcing him to swallow them. He repeated this, over and over again, until the bowl was empty, in a seemingly endless rhythm: grab, shove, grab.

"Now," he said, upon emptying the bowl. "You just sit here, and die. I've got things to do."

Bruce patted his cheek, and stood, stalking out of the room, to find Harley, curled up in the corner, scared out of her mind.

"Now," Bruce said, approaching Harley. "You and I are going to have a little discussion."

"You stay away from me,"Harley whispered, shivering.

Bruce crouched down in front of her. When Harley, panicking, went to hit him, Bruce grabbed her hand, looking at her with pity in his eyes.

"Listen to me. I was told once that a friend is someone one could trust there soul to. And vice versa. These pills," Bruce holds one up as an example, "are bad for you. Your friend, Ivy, is out there waiting for you to come home."

As Bruce spoke, an inky black liquid beaded upon Harley's skin like sweat, staining the lingerie she wore, and dripped off of her. It poured from her tear ducts in rivulets, leaving trails. Soon, the spectacle ended, the black mess covering the floor.

"I must go".

Harley began to protest, to say that she had the right to an explanation now, but by the time she had uttered the first syllable of her would-be tirade, Bruce had taken Jerome's corpse, tossed it out the window, and followed after it.


	5. Chapter 5

"Where do you want this, boss?" the thug said, motioning to the large crate of gunpowder.

Chill , broadswords strapped to his back, stared down at the worker from the catwalk. "With the bolts and cannon barrels, of course. With the gunpowder, you idiot!"

The worker flinched, and began rolling the barrel to where Chill had gestured.

Chill sighed. "It's so hard to find good help these days."

Chill enjoyed his job. He presided over the whole of the northern quarter of Gotham, reporting only to Carmine, and was given free reign to do most anything that he felt needed doing. All these liberties, and all he needed to do was make sure the factory, and it's warehouse division, stayed stocked, and the supplies held within were shipped out at the required dates.

To him, it was a good life, far better than what he had known during his formative years in the Falcone Empire.

The room suddenly darkened, the lamps hanging from the ceiling flickering, and turning a deep shade of blue.

While the blue light was, in and of itself, not an uncommon thing, the hue was wrong. The lamps burned a light, icy shade of blue, and they cast cold and unforgiving light.

"Tides of sin draw tighter and brighter, hours become heavier and weighted, and the shadows smile dark and wild," a young male voice said, from somewhere in the darkness.

Chill, as well as the workers, twisted there heads in the general direction of the voice. Out of the shadows came a clown, dressed in dark clothing, half of his face bathed in shadow.

"Who the hell are you?" Chill asked, unimpressed.

"Hell," Bruce said, contemplatively, smiling."The black void. Funny you should mention it, I've come to arrange the meeting between you and it."

At that, Chill laughed, before looking down at the thugs gathered below. "Dispatch him."

One of them, this one armed with a revolver, loaded the chamber, and took aim.

Bruce looked at him contemptuously. "If you shoot, it'll just...kill me."

The thug let the bullet fly, the projectile burying itself deep into Bruce's midsection.

Bruce doubled over, still looking at the nameless thug with a sardonic look on his face. "You wound me, sir. Wound me. I am wounded."

He stood, pulling the fired round out, holding it between his thumb and forefinger mockingly. "Huh, what do you know. I got better."

"How- what- you should be dead!" the man shrieked, his voice rising several octaves.

"It's not death if you refuse it," Bruce replied, shrugging.

Chill looked at him passively. He must have caught the bullet, and was attempting to psyche out his men, he reasoned. "Kill him. "

Ever the loyal servents, the thugs, those carrying knives at least, charged, blades bared.

Bruce dropped the first three with a blow to the torso, ducking in time to avoid the fourth's blade.

The crook snarled and swung at him again.

Bruce returned the snarl, blocking the strike with the palm of his hand, ignoring the gash that healed seconds later, and tore the man's throat out. Stepping over the gurgling corpse, he looked at the original thug who had shot him.

"Last chance," he said, knowing that he would understand.

The thug hesitated, before sprinting at full speed past him and to the exit, only to drop dead as he reached the doorway, a bullet buried in his head.

Chill loaded another bullet into the revolver . "I do not tolerate desertion."

Bruce looked up at Chill, grinning in a way that would have made a shark nervous.

"I played with all your little friends," he said, pointing at him. "Now I wanna play with you."

"Mmhmm, yeah, ok," Chill said, unimpressed, before aiming the revolver and burying the loaded bullet deep into his chest cavity.

Bruce, equally unimpressed, plucked out the bullet and sighed in relief as the wound closed.

Chill stood, stunned. "What the hell are you?"

"Vengeance ," Bruce replied leaping into the air, and landing on the catwalk.

Chill jumped, frightened, but he refused to run, especially from a child. That was a level of humiliation he would not accept. So, instead, he drew his switchblade, saying, "I take it you know how to fight?"

"Do you know how to die?" Bruce replied, dropping into a crouch.

Chill came at her, his blades whirling in an elegant figure-8 pattern.

Bruce ducked and dodged the blades, closing the distance between them, making it impossible for him to strike. He took grip of his wrists, in an attempt to make him drop the knife .

Chill resisted, managing to throw him to the ground. He brought his blades down in an effort to end the conflict.

Bruce, thinking on him feet, rolled behind him, and got to his feet.

Whirling, he swung his blades horizontally, hoping to separate her head from her shoulders.

Bruce ducked, and slammed his head into his stomach, sending him to the floor, the knife falling from his grip. He grabbed him, and slammed him into the railing.

"You remember your home, Chill?" Bruce hissed, gripping him by the front of his shirt. "Remember how you used to plan family dinners shortly after a fight , or a death, when there was food?"

"T-that's not me anymore," Chill replied, scared out of his mind.

"True. You are now the slinking coward that murdered Thomas, Martha, and Bruce Wayne."

Chill became even more terrified. "What? That was year ago. I was only following orders! What difference does it make?!"

Bruce glared at him, his vicious bright blue eyes glowing from his mask. "You took them without mercy or regret, and in cold blood, Chill!"

"H-how would you know this? How could you possibly?" Chill said, terrified and confused out of mind.

Bruce strikes him right in the jaw, with supernatural degree of strength behind. As Chill falls to the ground, Bruce becomes vicious, growling with vengeance.

"I know because I watched it happen! I know because I am the son of the Wayne's! I am the child you murdered!"

Bruce removes his mask, revealing his identity to the man who ruined his life.

"I am Bruce Wayne!"

Chill became far more terrified. Here he saw the young face of a child he helped murder a year ago.

Back from the dead?! "…No… Oh, no!"

Chill tries to fire his revolver at Bruce, but the boy kicks the revolver out of Chill's hand and beats the man in a way he hasn't shown to his worser enemies. He has Chill in his hands.

Bruce took the chance to strike, ramming his fist to Chill's nose. He fell to the ground, clenching his nose with his hand, to keep from the blood gushing out.

Bruce drew the knife he had kept from his encounter with Stan, and waved it in front of Chill's face. "Your friend Stan shouldn't have played with knives."

He tore open his shirt, placing the edge of the blade on his left pectoral. "One crow, sorrow."

He cut deeply, and watched in perverse satisfaction as blood poured from the wound, and Chill screamed. "Two crows, blood."

It felt strange of Bruce to recite the nursery rhyme his mother taught, in this situation, but he didn't care.

He cut him again, a sharp, angular line, smiling toothily as Chill screamed out again. "Three crows, a brother."

Another cut, another scream. "Four crows, a boy."

A fifth cut. "Five crows, silver."

Another. "Six crows, gold!"

And another. "Seven crows, a secret never to be told!"

Weak from loss of blood, Chill's words were indecipherable, and his movements were weak and sluggish.

Bruce looked at the arrangement of his cuts, and was satisfied that they resembled a bird. Wedging his fingers into the cuts, he tore the flesh away, much to Chill's agony, to reveal a faintly beating heart. His eyes cold as ice, he tore it from his chest, and savored his scream. He looked at him, and watched the light begin to fade from his eyes, and said one last thing to him, as he took a bite from the muscle he held in his hand.

"Eat your heart out, Chill."

When he had finished what he his grisly snack, he made his way back down to the floor of the warehouse, taking Chill's knives with him. Seeing the firearms, she frowned in disgust. Upon further investigation he found barrels of oil, presumably for torches, and cleaning the firearms. Dumping over the barrels, he made sure to douse the barrels of gunpowder with the flammable liquid.

On the way out, he grabbed a cigarette lighter, and hurled it into the massive, if shallow, lake of oil upon the floor, smiling as it ignited. The crow, having disappeared into the rafters, flew past her, guiding him as he calmly walked out of the burning building.

Outside, Gordon wandered his usual beat, watching for the typical thugs and muggers. However, what caught his notice was something far bigger.

The factory was on fire.

He stood there, awestruck. He knew the discontent, crime, and violence that filled the city like a brother, but this was something he had never seen the likes of.

He saw a masked figure exiting the gate of the factory, and drew his service pistol. "Hold it!"

The figure responded dryly, "I thought police always said "freeze"."

"Well I'm a police," Gordon replied to the obviously child-like figure and voice. "And I said hold it."

The young man kept moving.

"Move and you're dead," Gordon warned, holding the pistol as steady as he could.

"I say I'm dead," he said, now coming into full view, hands raised. "And I move."

Now that Gordon was able to see his face, he was slightly perturbed. The face was masked by a pale and gothic mask. Robed in dark clothing. Judging by voice and height, he's obviously a child. Possibly eight.

"What are you, nuts? Walking into a gun? You high?"

"Don't recognize me?" Bruce asked, somewhat disappointed. "Huh. A year off the scene, and I'm nobody. Talk about reputation."

"What are you on about?" Gordon said, growing more confused by the second.

"How about Thomas and Martha Wayne?" Bruce pressed, taking another step, just to taunt the officer. "Do you remember them?"

"They're dead, my friend," Gordon replied, keeping his weapon trained on her. "Now, I want you to move over to the curb there. C'mon, real nice and easy. Go on! Now, I'm gonna wait for back-up. This is too friggin' weird for me."

Bruce, seeing no real reason to refuse, went to the curb. "Just wait- it get's better. Do you know someone named Jerome? He should've treated his lovers with a little more respect."

"You're the one that murdered Jerome in the western quarter," Gordon whispered, stunned.

"Murdered?" Bruce echoed, somewhat indignantly, before softly adding, "Murdered?"

"He was already dead," Bruce said, looking away. "He died the moment he pulled the trigger on them. They're all dead. They just haven't realized it yet."

"Them?" Gordon repeated, not following. "Who? What- you're not making any sense, kid. None."

Bruce looked up at him, a faint glimmer of recognition in his icy blue eyes. "You...you were there. A year ago. You were there."

"What? I-" Gordon started, before he noticed the crowd growing in front of the burning factory as another series of explosions ripped through it. "Hey! Hey! Get away from there! Go on, scram!"

Gordon turned back to the clownish child, only to find him gone. He looked around wildly, frightened. "Oh, great. Great! A kid shows up looking like a jugalo from hell , and you lose him right out in the open...Well, at least he didn't do that dancing shit. I hate that."


	6. Chapter 6

Carmine Falcone drummed his fingers,on the armrest of his chair, glaring at the fourth employed hoodlum,Thomas Elliot, who had decided he had the testicular fortitude to barge into the household early in the morning, claiming to have important news, and wake his employer.

"I should hope this is truly important," Carmine said testily. "And not just an excuse to bask in my glory."

"Sir," the teenager began, taking careful note of how close Carmine's body guards were. "Your lieutenants in the southern and eastern corners are dead."

Falcone shrugged. "And? They're easily replaced."

"The factory in the eastern corner," the hoodlum said, nervously eyeing the floor, knowing what Carmine's reaction would be. "was destroyed."

"What?" Carmine roared, launching himself from his seat. "Destroyed? How?"

"N-no one knows, sir," the teen responed, taking a step back from the seething crime lord . "There was only a single witness, and he didn't see anyone in the vicinity."

"Bring him before me," Carmine demanded. "I'll question him myself."

"Y-yes, sir," Thomas stuttered, turning and running from the throne room, with Carmine 's blood red eyes watching him all the while.

Selina skated skillfully through the wet streets, the water almost threatening to spill over the board itself. It had rained more than she could ever remember. She passed crooked streets, homes long deceased, people whose lives have long been destroyed. Adults, teenagers, but the worst was dirty homeless children. It reminded her of her present circumstances, and of her past before the Wayne family came into the picture.

As it rained harder, not only memories would flood but so did the streets. Selina couldn't help but pull out her locket necklace around her neck. There were two pictures; One of Thomas and Martha Wayne as a couple, the other a single picture of Bruce. Oh how she missed them...

Selina was so busy remembering and focused on the locket, that she didn't noticed how she skating into the road, almost right in front of a moving taxi cab. What snapped her back into reality was the taxi honking it's horn, and saved her was a pair of hands swiftly pulling her out of the way and off her board.

"Let me go you creep!" Selina exclaimed, quickly about to just it as a "stranger danger" situation. Realizing what just happened, she turned her focus onto the taxi driving away.

"You didn't slow down you dick!"

Bruce's mind flooded with memories of him and Selina, and all the fun times they had with his parents. He had realized who he just saved. He attempted to hide his face(mask) with his left hand.

"He couldn't have stopped" Said Bruce.

"He was an asshole, I could've made it!" She exclaimed frustrated. She then took notice of Bruce's mask. "What are you supposed to be, some kinda clown?"

Bruce trying to keep his face turned away, "sometimes".

Selina picking her board back up, sighs as she starts skating in her separate way. "It's more like surfing than skating. I wish it would stop raining just once".

"Only the fool can stop tears from raining down." Bruce chuckled

Selina stopped, practically frozen in her tracks at that comment. "Bruce?"

She turned around as quick as she could, but he had already disappeared. It couldn't have been him? Could it?

Back at GCPD headquarters, Jim Gordon was sitting behind his desk, going through the homicide files dated a year ago. Looking for one particular.

Walking towards his desk, a lovely, gorgeous, blonde female police officer named Sarah Essen, handing him a file.

"Don't thank me. Are we fighting the good fight?"

"Multiple homicide. No convictions. Most infamous one in Gotham's history. Look at this, Sarah." Said Gordon, handing her a couple of papers. They were newspaper headlines.

" 'Thomas Wayne publicly insults crime boss'? 'Death of the Wayne's shakes Gotham'? You're investigating the Wayne case again?" Asked a surprised Sarah

"A man and his wife stood for his family's values, winds up saying to the wrong person. He and his family, child included, end up getting killed."

"It was a violent crime gone terribly wrong, Jim. A tragic crime, but still. Why can't you accept that?"

"A crime gone hay wired, doesn't result the death of a family and gang rape. It has to be something else." Jim couldn't help but slowly connect the dots in his head.

"You know, last time you were snooping around on this case, was when you were put back on the beat."

"Yea I know. Arnold and even Loeb keep reminding me about that." And as Jim said that, he couldn't help but the sketch the outlook of the mysterious clown from the other night, on an old picture of Bruce Wayne.

Sarah leans over to look, "You're gonna end up working a school crosswalk."

"I'm cool with that."

"You didn't get that file from me. And am I still babysitting Barbra Friday?"

"Yes ma'am." He said with a smirk.

Back at Carmine Falcone's manor, there were four people in a room. Carmine Falcone himself, his mistress, Mooney, Thomas Elliot, and Sherman Fine. Who just happens to be still shaken up from earlier. Sherman kept chugging down the glasses of brandy being offered to him.

"Bruise yourself doing the horizontal tango, Sherman?" Quipped Thomas

"Fuck off" said a rattled Sherman

Carmine Falcone clears his throat, getting everyone in the rooms attention.

" Last night, an arms factory gets scorched. To the foundation. And you happen to be the only witness in the whole goddamn quarter of Gotham. Why is that Sherman?"

"Sorry if I'm not talkative this very second. I've been tossed around like a rag doll by some demonic ten year old! I shot the son of a bitch, I saw the bullet hole close by itself. And now my business is attracting the likes of you. Other than that, my day sucked!"

"And another one of our guys became a target to him. Jerome, was found dead, stabbed and with a stomach completely filled with unlabeled pills." Added Thomas

Carmine took and gathered this info, "what else did you see?"

"So far I haven't heard shit about what you're going to do to fix this shit! My livelihood is now an attraction to the likes of you and those goddamn creatures of the night!" Exclaimed an agitated Sherman

"You ain't lost everything".

This comment pissed Sherman off through the roof, "Yeah, and maybe you're not so much a big shot either!"

Carmine sighs in frustration, "Fair enough. Catch." He tosses something small toward Sherman, who catches it and drops, once realizing it's eyeball. "Say hello to the last person who didn't cooperate with me."

"You're telling me this thing is real?!"

"All power of the world is within the eyes. Sometimes much more useful than those who bear them." He goes to a large cabinet of weapons and pulls out a sword.

"You know you're completely out of your fucking mind, right?" Insults Sherman.

"Not quite. Eyes see. An important tip I learned from my loving sweet heart". He gestures to Mooney.

"Loving sweet heart? Her?"

"That's right."

Carmine then points the sword at Sherman's throat, "Now let's take it from the top, with a lot of detail. What do you say?"

"He had a bird with him. Nearly pecked by face off. He told me to tell all of tommy boys friend here that death was on its way, whatever that means. Kinda reminded me of that dead Wayne kid. You wanna relax that thing?" Sherman gestured to the sword, scared for his life, again.

" And this bird child, just happens to let you live? You sure you ain't making this up to save your own skin?"

For some odd reason Sherman really took offense to that, "I ain't making all this up. I ain't twisted like you fucks!"

"A boy and his bird? Awful touching."

Sherman chuckled, beginning to believe he was in the clear with the crime boss. And before he knew it, Carmine thrusted the sword clean through his neck! As agony seared through his body, he began to making a lot of noise, struggling to keep ahold of life.

"For the lord's sake, just accept fate and die already," he gestured to Tommy, pointing at his revolver, "Give me that".

Tommy complied, handing his employer the firearm. Carmine quickly grab ahold of the gun, took aim , and fired a couple rounds through Sherman's head. The noises of dying struggles ceased.

"Thanks" as Carmine hands the firearm back to Tommy.

"What I found left of Chill said he saw a black bird as well. A big one. Then he bled out to death." Tommy added his own input.

"Then I guess Sherman wasn't full of it after all. Have the cleaning service come up." Carmine shrugged off, not minding the unnecessary blood on his hands.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Sorry for not updating sooner. Btw, I'm specifying this fact: ages; in this story, Bruce is eight, Selina is 13, Ivy is 10, and Harley is 16. Enjoy!**

Gordon sat alone in his apartment, staring at all the documents and newspaper clippings revolving around the Wayne Case. He knew couldn't study all this work, those bastards Loeb and Flass would boot him off the force in an instant. So he had to bring his work home.

He couldn't help but stare at the picture of the family, the one interestingly defaced the face of Bruce with marker. Some bizarre yet obvious connection was clicking in his head. But it couldn't be. The theory in his mind was downright impossible. Suddenly he heard the creaking of his wooden boards, followed by a voice.

"Freeze!"

Of course, due to all those years of training, Jim's reaction was to immediately turned around, and aim his service pistol at the intruder. The intruder was the young boy in the clown mask. For some odd reason, Jim eased himself a bit, but didn't lower the gun.

"Oh great. Is everyone gunning kids down these days?" Quipped the boy

"Take off the mask" Jim ordered the child.

"An anticlimactic way to do so, but since you have a gun, okay then." The boy said, his tone laced with sarcasm. Followed by him removing his mask with his right hand. Jim immediately felt shocked.

The face...he recognized it anywhere...Bruce Wayne.

Suddenly that impossible theory of his was a lot less impossible now.

In a matter of seconds, Jim went from slowly lowering his gun to actually holstering it. He then spent several seconds just standing there, doing nothing, face frozen with shock.

Bruce glanced down at the papers and pictures on the coffee table in the room, eyes directly on Jim's little doodle on his own picture.

"Incredible likeness, Gordon".

Jim finally gathered his senses, finding what nerves he could to speak, "I saw you die, I saw being buried six feet under."

"God, I'm thirsty. You got anything to drink in this place?"Bruce immediately walked into Jim's kitchen, opening his fridge, and pulling out a can of Coke.

Jim decided to pretend that the somehow resurrected child DIDNT just act that way. But his thought: Spoiled rich boy. Back to being shocked.

"I gotta sit down for a second. Shi-Holy Shit" He corrected himself. If this was some miracle of God, then he didn't say something to piss God off.

"Are you some kinda ghost?" Jim's question made Bruce cease gulping the Coke down his throat, and he answered with a large grin, "Boo!"

Bruce then sat down across from Jim, his grin immediately changed into a brooding frown, with amount of stress upon his brow.

"I don't know what I am. I was hoping you could tell me what happened to us and later on." He spoke with sorrow lacing his voice.

Jim frowned, feeling his chest ache with guilt weighing. He knew the answers to Bruce's question, but it wasn't exactly the kinda truth you'd want to have told to an eight year old. Regardless of him being back from the dead. But then again, the boy deserves the truth.

"You and your family went down an alley, bombarded with a barrage of bullets. Your father got killed instantly. Your mother...uh, got beaten and raped to death". He stopped himself noticing the look of unholy rage upon Bruce's face.

"I'm sorry. I'm that it happened to good people like you and them. You, uh, held on for thirty hours in intensive care and finally died at the hospital. I'm truly sorry Bruce." Jim sympathized.

Bruce closed his eyes, memories of that horrid night and agonizing hours of the hospital flooded his mind. He could feel his rage and anger boiling in place of his blood in his veins. Then he halted his rage, as other memories flooded as well.

Memories of the fun and playful times he had with his family. His whole family. His mother, his father, Selina, even Alfred. These memories calmed his unholy rage, all while raising more questions for him.

"There are two more I need to ask you about, mister Gordon." Bruce said with a firm coat of seriousness in his voice.

"And that would be?"

"There two others I want to know about. Selina Kyle and Alfred Pennyworth. Do you know what happened to them after us?" Bruce asked with concern.

"Um, Alfred Pennyworth was deeply saddened by you and your family's passing, so he went back England. Felt that Gotham no longer had place for him."

"And Selina?" Bruce pressed on

"She was placed back to foster care after the ordeal. She refused any foster parents, comparing to you three. So she ran away from it, living out on the streets now. I've done what I can to protect but not enough without DCFS tracking her down ." Jim said, guilt causing heartache.

He looked at Bruce, taking detail in consideration. Bruce's face screamed with rage, but the tears building up in his eyes stated sorrow.

Bruce immediately stood up, and placed his hands upon Jim's forehand, catching the police officer off guard. Bruce's mind flooded with Jim's memories of watching Selina struggle on the streets. He released the man, as the painful memories caused him heartache.

"Hey...you okay?" Jim asked, concerned for the boy

"I saw her. I saw her through your eyes. You stood by her all this time."

"Yeah, well, Someone had to. If not me, then who?" Jim stated with a matter of fact tone.

"Thank you." Bruce then took notice of a picture frame right next to him, with Jim and a red haired toddler in his lap, wearing a small purple dress.

"This your daughter?"

"Yeah. Practically the reason I still try to help clean up Gotham. Although nowadays I'm considering us to move somewhere else."

Bruce let out a small chuckle, "it's funny. Little things meant so much to my parents. Me and Selina used to find them so pointless. Believe me. Nothing is pointless."

Bruce finally decided to take way, heading towards the exit of the room.

"You gonna vanish into thin air, again?" Jim smirked, partially making it a quip.

Bruce smirked back, "For once, I'd rather use the front door."

"I'm sorry as hell for what happen to you, Bruce."

"Yeah..." Bruce exits the apartment.

(At Ivy, Harley, and Selina's apartment):

Selina woke up, smelling the smell of food being cooked. Which was unusual for her and the girls would usually somehow bring fast food home. She looked up, seeing Ivy bouncing up and down on a stool, and Harley cooking something on the stove.

Harley was wearing a red bathrobe with a black diamond pattern all over it. Selina wanted to point out to harley that the robe isn't doing much to cover up her cleavage but she decided not to.

"Oh you're up. Do you like regular or blueberry pancakes?" Harley asked, sounding like she was given vocal lessons from a 1950's mother

Pancakes? Harley cooking? What was going on?

"Beg pardon?"

"Harley's making us some pancakes for breakfast!" Ivy said, sounding as happy as ever. Something was up.

"What you on this time, Harleen?" Selina eyed her with suspicion. One night, she high and getting plowed by dirtbags, the next morning, she's Betty Crocker?

"Oh, no drugs. Someone, uh, woke me up." Harley said, leaving details out.

"Who?"

"Oh it was nuts"

"Whatever you say."

Selina finally took noticed of the brown leathery journal she grasped in her hands since last night. After the talk with that clown she had to dig it back up. Bruce's old journal.

"What's that?" Asked Ivy with curiosity

"Oh, it's just something of an old friend." Selina hoped that would satisfied the girl and end the topic.

She was wrong.

"Ooh, an old friend. Do tell." Harley budging into the conversation.

"It was Bruce's." Selina only says that, hoping the depressing truth would make the girls back off. Oh again, how wrong she was.

"You mean, the boy you still fiddle yourself to?" Harley exclaims.

Selina's face immediately turned beet red, "What?!"

"Selina, I'm the one that does laundry remember? And you think I don't notice certain stickiness on your underwear? Hmm" Harley smirked

Selina's beet red blush had just changed into a crimson.

"Shut the fuck up! You know what happened to him, Harley!" Exclaimed Selina

Harley was taken aback for a small second, then hung her head in shame, "Yeah you're right. I'm sorry Selina."

Selina wanted to be angry at harley, but she couldn't. Again she couldn't help but pity the girl. And she was still surprise to somewhat see a sober harley in the house.

"It's ok."

"Wasn't Bruce your brother?" Ivy asked, apparently not seeing the intense scent of depression in the air.

"By adoption, yes." Selina answered

"So why would you...do that...while thinking about him?"

Selina's crimson blush just got deeper. Damn it, she thought to herself. For a ten year old, she is smart.

"Again, we were adopted siblings. No genetics, no blood relation. Wasn't an incestuous feeling."

"Yeah, but did you...actually have feelings for him back then?"

Even though it was a harmless question, it was inevitable that it would bring Selina to tears, talking about her fallen brother, the boy she cared about. The girls as they pity her took her tears as a yes.

Both Ivy and Harley lunged forward, giving Selina a big bear hug. This placed a grin on her face, despite the tears.

"It's ok. It's ok." She opened Bruce's journal as she spoke, "It's like bruce used to say- 'Only the fool can stop tears from raining down'"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Srry for the long update. May I might add the credit of my reviewer , Burke23, for giving me a helping hand in making this chapter.**

"Fuck! This whole situation is fucked!" Muttered a panicking Thomas as he walks the busy, partially vacant streets of Gotham. Falcone told him he wanted him present at the sit down meeting. Didn't say why, but Thomas wasn't the questioning type when it came to Falcone.

"One part falls, the whole thing falls. Stan May have been a dick, but he winds up a fucking voodoo doll. Jerome Od-ed and stabbed, and fucking Chill gets turned into a cannibalized corpse!" Thomas kept muttering and panicking.

Thomas quietly whispers to himself the "Blowing to hell" mantra to keep his nerve as he quickly enters and exits a convince store for smokes and road beers.

The red mustang. Was Chill's prized possession, thought Thomas. Oh well. Finders keepers, now.

Thomas carefully places the smokes and beer into the passenger seat. Turns the key in the ignition, ready to get to Falcone's meeting. Or that was the plan, until Thomas noticed a beretta pointed at his head.

Thomas saw the person holding the gun. A small child, wearing a black, leather coat several sizes too big for him. Face masked with a pale and colorful clown face.

"What's this happy horse shit?" Thomas replied meekly as the barrel of the gun was barely pressed against his nose.

"I'm your passenger. Now drive." Bruce replied, cocking the gun.

Not wanting a bullet flying through his skull, Thomas complied, pressing the gas peddle.

As the mustang began to zoom, buildings quickly leaving behind them, Thomas became eager to take chance to bargain with the armed youngster.

"What you want kid? Money? Drugs? I got it. Enough to take your little mind to Oz." Thomas bargained, but Bruce remained silence, not lowering the gun.

"Falcone could use you. You did Chill and the others? This is business right?" Thomas asked, still bargaining.

Seeing how is the child could now actually kill him, Thomas complied with him, boosting from thirty to fifty miles per hour.

"Drive faster." Bruce demanded, flipping the safety off of the beretta.

(In a cop car in an alley way):

"You got that cream stuff?" One cop asked the other, the other complying by handing him the faulty creamer.

"I hate this stuff. Can't even call it cream legally."

Suddenly Thomas and Bruce within the red mustang, speeded by them at full speed, startling the cop into dropping his coffee. The cop car takes off chasing them. More of retaliating for spilled coffee than speeding.

(Back within the mustang):

"Oh look, making us popular. In this town, if they're flashing like that, they ain't friends anymore." Thomas said, hoping this would cause Bruce to relent.

Bruce's only gesture was positioning his index finger on the trigger, encouraging Thomas to speed up. No problemo.

"If this is a personal thing, we can sort it out amigo, right?"

The response from Bruce was pressing the barrel of the gun even more near Thomas' left temple. Thomas complied by speeding up, leaving the police behind in his tracks.

Bruce later told Thomas to make a left turn, parking at the docks...

(Meanwhile at Selina's apartment):

The girls were inside a pitched blanket fort, composed of quilts. The only source of light illuminating the fort was a flashlight in Harley's hands, performing dramatic lighting on her face as she told a scary tale...

"And so, as the young teenage girl heard something as she took her shower, she pulled back the shower curtain, and she saw...her grandpa, pants down, and jacking off!"

"Ewwww!" Selina and Ivy exclaimed as they couldn't keep the giggles back. Harley decided to continue.

"And then- Spurt!- all her grandpas old, elderly jizz all splashed and squirted all over her face!"

"Ewe!" The two exclaimed even more as they fall onto their backs laughing.

"Harley..why would the grandpa being doing that?" Ivy couldn't help but ask as she continued to giggle.

"One, he's one sick Sonuva bitch. And two...she actually had a decent rack on her." Harley joked, getting a couple of giggles out of the two.

"Oh guys, I gotta get going." Selina said, stepping out of the fort, with Bruce's journal in her hand.

"Where you going?" Asked Ivy

"Off into town, do a little this and that. You know, the usual. " Selina says, knowing Ivy would understand.

"Ok then."

Just as Selina was about to reach the door, Harley called out to her.

"Hey Selina! You wearing those underoos I bought ya?" Harley asked.

"Yeah" Selina raised her eyebrow.

"Good. I hear they're so right they're like chastity belts." Harley said, partially joking.

"Good to know." Selina smirked as she exited the apartment.

(Meanwhile at the docks...):

-Thomas Eliot was being taped to the seat of a car by Bruce.

-"What do you want?" Thomas asked "You want money, I've got money. Just don't kill me!"

-"As far as I'm concerned," Bruce said getting in the passenger seat "you were dead the moment you killed Thomas, Martha, and Bruce Wayne. Enjoy your trip." Bruce reached for the stick shift.

-"We were hired," Thomas said suddenly.

-Bruce paused, "Come again?"

-"Some rich gang leader SOB wanted them out of the picture, he payed us ten grand each to get rid of them and make it look like a mugging," Thomas explained.

-Bruce grabbed him by his ear and pulled, making Thomas scream in pain. "Who?" Bruce asked, "Falcone? Maroni?"

-"COBBLEPOT!" Thomas screamed. Bruce had heard of the Cobblepot's, they were the Wayne's polar opposites. The Wayne's used their wealth and power to the benefit of others, the Cobblepot's used their wealth and power to benefit themselves.

-"Where is he?!" Bruce yelled.

"He works on the north side of Gotham," he said "a meeting with all of the gang leaders will take place in an abandoned warehouse on dock #7."

-Bruce let go of his ear and reached into Thomas's coat pocket and pulled out a book of matches. "Thanks for the help and the matches," Bruce said "now you can enjoy your trip." he grabbed the stick shift and put it into neutral and jumped out of the car. As the car went closer and closer to the edge of the dock, Bruce grabbed a can of lighter fluid and sprayed it on the ground. Then he took the matches, lit one, and dropped it on the lighter fluid. Within seconds a fiery crow erupted from the ground.


	9. Chapter 9

**disclaimer; I owe and credit part of this chapter, to my newly placed co-writer to this story, Burke23. Read, review, enjoy!**

James Gordon waltz towards his desk within the police station. Actually slept last night and felt particularly at ease, knowing the explanation behind the recent deaths. Although he felt morally crossed for allowing Bruce to carry on with his...crusade.

Then he heard Major Flass come out of his office, walking towards his desk, file folder and photographs in his hand.

"Hey Gordon. This is the third hit in your hood in the last 48 hours. We fished this guy out of the river. Fused to his car and scarred tissue from head to toe. Gonna have to ID him by his teeth."

Jim took a look at the photograph and recognition hit. The car being fished out was the dented and scrapped remains of the infamous red mustang belonging to Gotham's local quartet of ruffians.

Considering how the other three was wasted by Bruce and his personal warpath, the charred corpse attached to the driver seat must be Thomas Elliot. Definitely Bruce's work.

"His name is Thomas Elliot also known on the streets as 'Hush'. Rap sheet contains Arson, petty theft, and DUI's. Looks like he zigged when he should have zagged. Case closed."

This response must have seriously pushed Flass's buttons, cause his reaction was seething.

"Bull-fucking-shit! Come here. You're holding out on me here. I got a goddamn vigilante killer knocking off scumbags left and right, and you're covering up for someone! Who's the juggalo brat on the streets?"

Jim just couldn't help but chuckle. This was the first thing Arnold had said that wasn't limited to three sentences about his superiority as a brute cop.

"Hey, you're the detective, you tell me?" He smirked

"Okay, Sherman's place was torched to hell, you're having a chatting session with some weirdo who winds up in Elliot's car when it zigs instead of zags. And you stole a file of mine from homicide, and you claim it's just a fucking car accident?! Come the fuck on!"

Jim couldn't help but smirk, humored by Flass' rant.

"Yep. Good speech though, I didn't want to interrupt you. It sounded good, you'd wanna right that shit down. "

This remark seemed to have send Flass' tolerance through the roof, and just out the window.

"Alright Smartass. Loeb's gonna have a little love letter on his desk about you. Welcome to day one of your suspension. "

Jim frowned, "Suspension? For what?"

"Misconduct", Flass picked up the phone, "get me the lab."

Selina approached the old Wayne Manor, immediately pulling off boards from the door, enabling her entrance. And the first thing she did after entering was run upstairs, heading towards the room her and Bruce had shared at the time.

The first thing she saw was her and Bruce's room, aged and covered in dust and cobwebs, floorboards creaked and dilapidated, windows shattered and vandalized.

Then her old fluffy, white Persian cat, Iris, came out and pranced towards her.

"Iris!", Selina gasped picking up the cat, "I thought you were dead!...you aren't dead are you?"

Selina looked around her. Despite the room's aged and dilapidated state, many good and precious memories flooded her mind, reminding her why she came to the manor.

"Bruce?", she called, " Selina, you must be going crazy."

Then she noticed a tiny but visible pillar of smoke rising from the fireplace, small pile of ashes smoldering. This meant someone was here, and she cast aside her doubts.

"I knew it was you. The mask didn't fool me. I'm the one who bought for you, remember? I remembered your saying. 'Only the Fool can stop tears from raining down'. Mother used to tell us that when ever we would become depressed." She said out to the room, yet no presence was made.

"Come on Bruce. I know you're here. I miss you. I miss you and your parents. I feel lonely by myself. All alone and unwanted again. I need the love back."

Still no other presence. No movements, no sounds being. Not a creature stirring, not even Iris was making any sound.

"To hell with you. I thought you cared about me." Selina headed for the door, doubt, guilt, and sadness in her heart.

Then suddenly, the surprising sunrise within Gotham illuminated the room through the windows, a silhouette of a small shadow created on the door in front of her.

"Selina. I do care."

She turned around, seeing her old friend and brother for the first time in a year. He had looked different to her. His hair was inches longer, bangs covering his forehead, drenched in rain water. His clothing consisted of a skin tight black A-shirt, black denim jeans, and a black leather longcoat.

His face was pale, white as the virgin snow. But what really took her attention in, was his eyes. In life, they were as blue as the coldest ice. But now... Emerald green, that she coulda swore, had pupils that resembles the shape of skulls.

She ran towards him, grasping his entire body in a large bear hug, embracing him. She was shocked by his temperature. His clothing send off some warm yet they were still drenched by the rain. His skin...was cold as ice. Cold as ice, texture like stone.

"I missed you." She said, shedding several tears.

"I missed you." Bruce said, his voice calm, steady and smooth as vinyl.

"Life has been so...sad and hopeless since you guys died. Makes one wanna stop living." She cried, her voice cracking with sorrow.

Bruce could practically feel his hear literally breaking by his adopted sister's remark. He never wanted her to be this unhappy, to say such a thing as that.

Bruce broke the embracing hug between the two, gazing into her shining green eyes, remembering all the precious times between the two. Bruce then smirked.

"I wanna show you something."

(Later on, a cavern below the estate):

The cave was vast and spacious. Mountainous pillars and thrones of bedrock and limestone, all shrouded in a cloak of darkness, excluding the sunlight shining through the hole of a dilapidated well on the surface of the estate.

Surrounding them, was darkness, a waterfall mysteriously coming from an unknown and unexplained source. Above the two children, housing in the stalagmites above them, was practically an atmosphere of bats. Black, leathery winged bats.

"Remember when we used to come down here?" Bruce asked.

"Yes," Selena said "I remember that we would hold hands down here so we wouldn't get separated."

"And we got lost together," Bruce chuckled "and Alfred had to come down here with a lantern to find us. Dad was so pissed."

Yeah," a tear ran down Selena's cheek "good times."

Suddenly a large swarm of bats circled them. Selena dropped to her knees and held on to Bruce's leg. Bruce chuckled. "Stand with me," he said "don't be afraid."

With the bats continuing to swarm around them, Selena slowly stood up. When she was completely on her feet, she felt a sense of freedom that she hadn't felt since the Wayne's were alive.

"Screw it." She grabbed Bruce by the shoulder, spinning him towards her, swiftly pressing her lips against his own.

Bruce muffled up some sounds due to being surprised, but ceased and quickly embraced her display of affection. He wrapped his arms around her body, embracing every bit of her. He couldn't fight the feelings he's had for her for two years, anymore.

In the heat of the moment, Bruce had slowly pulled the leather black jacket she wearing down her sleeves. As he had reached her wrist, his finger had grazed upon a healed scar, suddenly memories flooding his mind. Bad ones.

Memories from Selina's point of view, of her committing self harm with a razor blade, of her being temporarily in a cell, with orderlies. Of her and her hard times on the street. Of her on her back, her body being violated by other men...

He immediately and violently broke the affection between them. He looked at her, tearing shedding from his eyes. He glanced at her surprised face, then at the cuts on her arms, and back at her face.

"The cuts...explain them." He grunted

Selina looked down to the stone floor of the cavern looking shamefully.

"Like I said earlier. After you guys died, life in this city was so terrible, it would make one wanna stop living. And so, I think it's obvious where the cuts came from."

Once more, Bruce could feel his heart break, even if it was no longer pumping, by Selina's words. But he knew it wasn't the full story.

"And the memories of the orderlies?" Bruce pressed on, sparking a surprised look from her, "Whatever thing brought me back, allowed me to see your memories."

"Oh. Well, I started cutting while I was put into the foster system. They had me put under weeks long suicide watch. The most merciful option this city could offer my case."

Bruce nodded as understanding, but still pressed on, "And the men?"

This time Selina really looked ashamed, tears falling down her cheeks.

"After I ran from foster care, I had to do what I had to do to survive on the streets...even if it meant I had to become a hooker."

Bruce balled his fist in rage, an unnatural degree of strength piling up behind it. So much tragedy...so many men...touched HIS Selina!

He punched a large pillar of limestone next to his right, shattering to many pieces, whatever wounds or scrapes upon his fist were healed instantly before Selina's eyes.

"That damn Cobblepot...for killing me , mom, and dad...for leading up to your misery!" Bruce growled, his voice nearing a demonic gravel. Selina coulda swore his pupils resumed their skull-shape.

"Cobblepot?! What's he's involved in this?" Selina asked, curious yet surprised.

"He...was the one who hired those thugs to kill me, mom, and dad." Bruce said, his voice still graveling.

"Cobblepot..was also the one to put me in that slave ring. You know, the one I was in before mom and dad saved me?" She frowned, bad memories brought up.

Bruce glared, pupils filled with a fury one could only identify as "the wrath of God". He felt his very being fill itself with rage, to fuel his next actions.

"He will pay, Selina. He will pay dearly, with his life and blood. You have my word."

Selina couldn't help but cough up a smile at that. She may not know many things, but she did knew this: If Bruce gave his word on something, by the will of the heavens, it would be done.

"Kill him for me, Bruce. Kill him good." She purred.

At that very moment, Bruce's stalking guide of a crow, had flew out of nowhere within the cave, landing on Bruce's shoulder.

"The night watchman?" Selina joked.

"You know this thing?" Bruce questioned.

"Sorta. I saw him one day, nearly you and your parents' graves."

"Well, whatever he is, he's following me around and giving me a helping hand in removing those street stains." Bruce gestured to the crow.

"Well, let's hope he'll help you waste Cobblepot." Selina said, her eyes shining,with a tiny glimmer of hope.

"I promise you." At the moment, Bruce grabbed Selina, pulling her in for one big, passionate kiss...despite the crow's squawking in protest.


	10. Chapter 10

**I'll admit partially this chapter isn't exactly the greatest piece of my work. I also like to credit partial piece of this chapter to my co-writer, Burke23. Enjoy and review!**

The legally abandoned warehouse on Dock 7, was suddenly becoming populated and inhabited. A small populace filled the boardroom. Every single one had a criminal rap sheet, each rank ranging from common thug to one of Gotham's most powerful. Each sat at a long table, with piles of money, scattered guns, and trays of cocaine all scattered across it.

Falcone entered the room and took his seat at the head of the table. At his left, his mistress and eye candy, Fish Mooney. At his right, his sadistic and calculative bodyguard, Victor Zsasz. Falcone glanced around at his company, listing the names of Gotham's Commission.

Oswald Cobblepot, Aka the Penguin. Owner of the Iceberg Lounge, a legitimate front for his activities. Basically owned Gotham's black market. Has a messy head of black hair, a pointy nose resembling a beak, and wore a white shirt with a black, Continental Cross tie with its ends tucked inside a silk, purple checkered vest and a black coat with dark green lapels, black pants and matching shoes, umbrella in his left hand.

At Oswald's left was a man Falcone could recall of the name Floyd Lawton, but any person on the streets referred to him of the name, Deadshot. A man of tall build, sported a uniform of red with metal plating. His exposes tan skinned, black haired, head sporting sunglasses and a beard. Must be Cobblepot's new bodyguard.

The next, Salvatore Maroni, only other boss in Gotham second to Falcone himself. Tall guy, tanned, clearly of Italian descent. Three piece suit wore on like a skeleton. Heard having problems with that DA, Dent. His bodyguard was the usual muscle bound thug, built like a linebacker, dressed like a maitre.

Third, was Roman Sionis, aka Black Mask. Most sadistic person in Gotham, had almost the south side of the city under his heel. Man of 6'5, three piece suit black and white, face completed covered with a black mask shaped like a skull. Must be a freaky fetish.

His bodyguard was...interesting. Man built of 6'7, built like a bodybuilder, sported a black uniform and face mask, red accents around his eyes. Falcone overheard black mask refers to the others as KGBeast. Whatever that meant.

Fourth, Jonny Crane, also known as "Scarecrow" on the streets. The kid was young and a newcomer, but he had large monopoly on the drug ring. Sold a halogenic more powerful PCP. Only problem was the hallucinations were surreal and terrifying. Mainly a problem for customer. For some reason he lacked a bodyguard.

And at last, was Ming Lau, the mob's accountant of Chinese descent, being broadcast on a television via webcam.

Now the meeting could begin.

"As you're all aware, one of our deposits was stolen", spoke Lau on the television, "A relatively small amount, 68 million."

"Who's fucking stupid enough to steal from us?" Questioned Black Mask, in an aggressive graveling tone.

"A crew of two-bit wackjobs, wearing red hoods and suits", explained Maroni, "They ain't the problem, they're nobodies."

"The problem is our money being tracked by the cops." Maroni carried on.

"Thanks to Mr. Maroni's well-placed sources, we know that police have indeed identified our banks using marked bills, and are planning to seize your funds today." Lau explained

This sparked a reaction of outrage of all the people in the room. Specifically Falcone, for he owned the robbed bank.

"And since the enthusiastic DA has put all my competitors out of business, I'm your only option."

"What are you proposing?" Asked Maroni.

"Moving all deposits to one secure location, not a bank." Said Lau.

"Where then?" Questioned Oswald.

"No one could know but me. If police gained leverage over one of you, everyone's money would be at stake." Said Lau with a smirk.

"What's stopping them from getting to you?" Questioned Jonny.

"I go to Hong Kong. Far from Dent's jurisdiction, and the Chinese will not extradite one of their own." Lau said smugly

"How so could you move the money?" Asked Falcone, who finally spoken.

"I already have. For obvious reason I couldn't wait for your permission. Rest assured your money is safe."

"Well I don't know about you, but I feel like a little worm on a big fucking hook here." Complained Jonny.

All the others grunted in agreement.

"Bunch a punks steal 68 millions from us, then you swipe the rest from us!" Complained Black Mask.

Sensing the tension of the mobsters, Lau disabled the cam connection on his half, causing the screen to turn static.

"What kinda fuckin' security you got for our cash, Falcone?" Black Mask questioned aggressively.

"Please, Falcone can't even keep his thugs alive, let alone secure all of our finances." Scoffed Oswald

Suddenly the crow flies in, landing on the table, gaining a surprise from everyone.

"How the hell that get in here?"

"Gentlemen!" Boomed a voice, turning their heads to attention.

Bruce walks into the room, intimidating atmosphere building around him. Some of the men snickered at his clownish mask.

"So you're him? The crusader? The killer of killers? Gotta like the coat. Not so much on the mask though." Falcone said smugly. This gained a snicker from all the others.

"Oh, don't like my mask. How this then?" Bruce asked, removing his mask, revealing his true face. This gained a shock and gasp from the room. Especially Cobblepot.

They all stared at a young boy, who a year ago was reported dead and buried. Yet he was standing a room with them. But this was the real world?!

"I just want him." Bruce pointed towards Cobblepot, making the crime lord instantly shake in fear.

"Well you can't have him." Said Jonny, being smug.

"Well I see you made your decision. Now let's see you enforce it." Bruce said defiantly

"Oh this is already boring as shit. Kill him!" Ordered an agitated Black Mask. A majority of the bodyguards taking their firearms, blasting the young boys body down from the table.

"Oooh, that had to hurt." Said Deadshot, walking towards where the body fell, only to find nothing.

"He's gone!"

Suddenly Deadshot was pulled, disappearing under the table screaming in shock and fear, even for a hired assassin. Falcone, Zsasz, and Fish quickly escaped as a big gunfight of the century began.

Bruce jumped out from under the table, in hand a knife whose blade was long enough to claimed as a dagger. Blood had already stained the blade.

"You're all gonna died". Bruce said ominously. Suddenly as Bruce snapped his fingers, every light in the room began to viciously flicker on and off.

Screams and shrieks followed, along with the sound of bodies dropping to the floor. To his vision as the lights flickered, Oswald saw many men die before his eyes: first Black mask, then Jonny, then followed by Maroni and the bodyguards being instantly killed. Oswald jumped from his seat heading directly for the exit.

"I gotta get the hell out of here!" He shrieks

As the lights flickered on once more, Bruce appeared right in front of Oswald, startling him, "Aah!"

"Guess it's not a good day to be a bad guy, huh, Ozzie?" Bruce mocked

"You can't be back! This is the real world!" Oswald shrieked, his reality unfolding, "WHAT ARE YOU?!"

Bruce simply frowned, the lights flickered off, but for a long period of time. Oswald suddenly felt what was like a abominable amount of strength had hit him, sending him across the room.

"I AM VENGEANCE!" Bruce exclaimed, his voice graveling to a inhuman tone.

As the lights flickered on for a second, then blacking out once more, Oswald could feel that inhuman amount of power attacking him again, sending him towards near a moonlit window.

"I AM THE NIGHT!"

Oswald struggled to get back up, shaking as he only manages to stand a third of his height, his muscles aching as a tangled mess.

"I AM..." Bruce cried inhumanly, Oswald instantly seeing and feeling Bruce wrapping his hands around his throat. Lights instantly flickered back on.

And Oswald could only see...the child, strangling the life out of him, with bright emerald green eyes, bizarrely shaped pupils. It was terrifying.

Bruce could all of Cobblepot's memories as he strived to clench every last breath out of the man. Memories of his abusive childhood, his rise to power...his torment of Selina and ordering the death of him and his parents.

"I am your worst fucking nightmare." Bruce whispered, summoning all his strength, pushing Oswald out the window, sending him to hell.

Bruce smirked in triumph, feeling as he had finally avenged him and his family. He had felt...fulfilled.

Then suddenly a squadron of armed police officers had burst in, firearms pointed at him with their fingers on the triggers.

"That's all she wrote! Hold it! Move and we shoot!" Said one cop, appearing to be the leader

Bruce smirked, taking his chances, humorously dancing across the floor, causing the policemen to start firing, giving Bruce the opportunity to jump out of the shattered window.

Landing on the nearest rooftop, Bruce immediately took off running, hopping from each rooftop to rooftop. Being chased by bullets being fired by cops from all sides.

And it really didn't help that he was being chased by a police helicopter, machine guns firing!

"Since when were helicopters allowed machine guns?!"

As he ran out of roofs to jump, Bruce had no choice but to jump off the roof, landing onto the road...suddenly with Jim Gordon's car pulling up next to him.

"Get in!"

"Don't need to tell me twice!"

"My advice, next time duck! So many cops you'd think they're giving out free donuts!"

As Gordon drove, it was miraculous that he was dodging the many fired rounds of a flying helicopter firing a machine gun.

As they managed to escape outside the city limits, leaving all the cops behind them.

"I think we lost them" Gordon turns his head only to see Bruce gone and the car door open.

"Next time, I'm nailing his feet to the ground."

(Selina's apartment, 2:30 AM):

Selina awaken hearing a slight knocking sounds. She stood up from out of her bed, following the sound to her window, only to see Bruce outside of it. Being curious and not wanting the knocking to awake Harley and Ivy, she opened the window.

"What are you doing out here? People usually try to sleep at this hour"

"Hello to you too. Nice pajamas by the way." Bruce quipped, blushing as he did.

Selina looked down at her attire, covering herself as modesty kicked in. She failed to realize she was only wearing a black tee shirt and Hello Kitty underoos! Bruce has never seen her this underdressed!

"Grr! Get in, get in!" She ordered in a whispered tone.

Bruce complied, yet just couldn't remove his gaze from her, nor her legs.

"Quit staring at me!" She complained, smacking Bruce on the head.

"Sorry!" Bruce blushed

"And keep it down, my roommates are asleep!" She shushed him, putting on a pair of black sweat pants.

Bruce then noticed a trunk in the corner of the room, that drawer his attention and curiosity.

"What's that chest over there in the corner?" Bruce asked.

"Bad memories, from when I was on the street," Selena said.

"Open it," Bruce said "let me see."

"I threw away the key years ago," she said "there's no way to open it."

Bruce walked up to her and took a bobby pin out of her hair, "There's always a way." Bruce walked up to the chest, picked the lock, and opened the chest.

"Could you teach me how to do that?" Selena asked.

"It's all about finding the sweet spot," Bruce said

"Ooh? Something you need to tell me Bruce?" She quipped in a sultry voice. He knew rolled his eyes at the joke.

He opened the chest and saw what Selena had feared, it was her old prostitute outfit. A leather outfit, clawed cat gloves, leather high-heeled boots, a cat-o-nine-tails, and a cat mask. Bruce whistled picking up the mask, "This wasn't cheap, pure carbon fiber."

"Oh what you know? Guys would bang me and pay me, and all the while my outfit was worth more than I was paid." Selina spoke with sarcasm.

And then the memory flashes started to kick in Bruce's mind. All the men...the violation...the bruising...Bruce immediately dropped the helmet, wanting the memories to cease.

"You poor, poor girl"Bruce whimpers

"It's fine, Bruce. I prevailed through" Selina comforts him.

"I'm glad that I slaughtered Cobblepot." Bruce's voice began to gravel

Selina immediately hugged him, kissing his lips passionately, tears slowly going down her cheeks.

"Thank you, Bruce, thank you."

Bruce embraced her. Her affection, her body, her soul. It felt like them that time stood still.

Then time began moving as Selina began to broke the affection between them, and stared into his eyes, with teary eyes of her.

"Will you stay Bruce?" She asked, a question that seemed to pierce the air itself around them.

"I'm sorry, Selina. But I can't" Bruce said, heart aching for each word.

"Why not? You're back. Mom and dad are avenged. For what reason, why not?" Selina asked frantically

"Selina, I'm practically still dead. I'm going to need to rest in peace. I do love you, you know that."

Selina didn't buy that for some reason. Bruce comes back, avenges his parents, and now he was going to abandoned her in this shit town?!

"Fucking liar!" She smacked him. Smacked him hard.

"Last I checked, you said your roommates were asleep. You might want to keep it down." Bruce tried to reason with her

"I don't give a shit! Far as I think, Harley might as well wake up in here, nude as a baby, and go 'Oh Selina, I see your old dead friend here. Mind if I jump his dead bones'!" She screeched furiously.

Selina tried to shove Bruce, but he stood his ground firmly, only for herself to collapse sobbing in his arms.

"Why won't you stay?" She sobbed

"What would we expect? Romance, normal life, marriage and kids? I'm still dead, legally and physically. For all we know, if I stay, the government might as well come over." Bruce reasoned.

Selina couldn't help but chuckle behind the tears at the joke. Bruce always did know how to make her laugh. But then she got serious.

"So I'm going to be left alone again, huh?" Selina frowned

"No. You won't be alone. You'll have Harley, Ivy, and even Gordon." Bruce reassured her

"But still. My life is going to be crappy again."

"Selina, look at me..." Bruce told her

She complied and look right into his eyes. They weren't the emerald green color anymore. They were the icy blue they were when he was alive. The eyes of her brother and love one, not the ones of her avenger.

"The one most crucial fact about you: is you're a survivor. Your most special talent is to endure." Bruce assured her, causing a smile to rise on her face. This earned him a kiss from her.

"Bruce...I'll forgive you for staying...but could you at least spend the night with me?" She pleaded, patting a spot next to her on her mattress.

Bruce began to hesitate until he saw no reason why not, "ok."

He lied down next to her , embracing the warmth of her, wrapping his arms around her form. This felt..just right to him, as it did to her.

Selina's eyes begun to close, her drifting off to sleep.

"I love you, Bruce."

Bruce yawned, as he too was falling asleep, "I love you too."


	11. Chapter 11

Carmine and Mooney sat in the back seat of his car, with Zsaz in the front driving them. All three of them still remained stunned by the ordeal a few hours ago. A child that they thought was dead and buried, shows up out of nowhere, laying the rest of their commission to waste, as if they were nothing!

"Look at this city. I alone had spent decades turning this into something improved. I turned the buildings from crummy smolders into ivory towers, a few of this city's people into its elite. And now...all coming down because of some dead brat." Falcone spoke, aggravated more than ever.

"So...the late Bruce Wayne, back from the dead for revenge." Zsasz said, citing the obvious

"The boy has power, but it is power you can take away from him. Like taking a toy away from the child." Spoken Mooney

"I like the kid already." Falcone quipped

"The crow is his link between here, and the land of the dead." She explained.

"So, destroy the bird and we destroy the boy.." Zsasz beginning to understand what she was getting at.

Falcone could only responded by grinning from ear to ear, the essence of evil being symbolized by the grin.

(Streets of Gotham, 4:30 AM):

Bruce walked down the streets, heading towards the cemetery. Guilt weighed in his heart, for betraying Selina's trust. He hoped she would forgive him. If she did care for him, she must understand his need for peace.

"Mother, Father, I'm coming."

And upon that moment, Bruce saw several children rush out onto the street, imitating hand gestures and gun sounds, seeming as if they were playing. If you can believe it.

Seeing such a sight of innocence still remaining in Gotham...Bruce couldn't help but make a hearty chuckle, actually feeling a heartwarming moment.

(Selina's Apartment, 4:30 AM):

Selina awaken in her bed, expecting to feel Bruce at her side, but only to find an empty space. She gathered herself, standing up from the bed. She felt her heart sadden with woe and betrayal. He's gone.

"'Forgive you for not staying'. Why the fuck did I say that?" She said, tears falling down from her eyes.

Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. On the nightstand next to her bed...was a pearl necklace with a note next to it.

'Mother would have wanted you to have this.' Read the note, verifying that the pearl necklace was their mother's. Selina feel her heart fill with woe.

Then she feels determination rising within herself. The last love one she has, and she's just gonna let him go? No way.

'On your feet, Selina. He's gonna go to the cemetery. Maybe you can get there before him, and guilt trip him into staying.' She thought to herself.

Tying Martha's necklace around her neck, and placing on her leather jacket, she rushes out the door, not even considering the fact that Harley and Ivy would awaken by the noise of the slamming door.

As she reaches outside of the apartment complex, she felt a pair of hands suddenly grab her, pulling her off into an alleyway. And not like the manner Bruce saved her in. The bad way. A grabbing of bad intentions.

As she is dragged into the alley, she catches a glimpse of three faces: One of a copper tone skinned woman, the one grabbing ahold of her being a bald man covered in scars, and Carmine Falcone. She recognized him. Everyone born and raised in Gotham would recognize the Roman.

She panics, tries to squirm out of the scarred man's grasp, but she couldn't. She only weighed 120, he possibly 250. And if her hands were free, she would try to claw his eyes out in a heart beat. No such luck.

And she also failed in panicking, as Falcone performed a disturbed attempt of reassurance to silence her.

"Shhh, shhh, take it easy, sweetheart"

She could feel herself loose her lunch at the crime lord's attempt on her. The tone he was using reminded of all the creeps that would touch her when she'd work the corner.

She felt her senses rise in panic and fear as Falcone grabbed a small but firm grasp on the necklace around her neck.

"What's this, a little souvenir from your pal, huh?"

Selina felt like crying as he pulled the necklace from her neck, two or three pearls falling off and gently hitting and bouncing on the pavement.

"I'll just keep it for good luck, what'd ya say?" Falcone smirked.

The copper skinned woman, Mooney, suddenly braced herself near Selina's face, her gaze eye to eye with hers. This frightened Selina so.

"Her eyes. So innocent, yet so filled with tragedy."

And that frightened her even more.

"What'd say, Mooney?" Spoked the bald man, "After all this is over, you get her eyes, I have fun with what's left of her? Maybe the both of us can have fun with her?"

Zsasz finished with the sentence by licking Selina's cheek, and then whispering in her ear.

"What about you, girlie? Wanna have some fun? From what I've heard from Cobblepot, you're a tight little fuck."

Selina whimpers, almost vomiting in her throat. Three scumbags grab her into an alley, then a mutilator and rapist discuss what to do with her.

Then Falcone ends the conversation between the sickos before it really starts.

"Enough. We have a plan to do, remember? After that, then you two can have your fun. Let's get her to the Cathedral."

Selina gulped. That only made things worse than they were. She whimpered and softly sobbed as the three dragged her away with them.

Unknown to any them, they were entirely under the crow's watchful gaze as it flaps it's wings, following the four without them even knowing it...

(Meanwhile, Gotham Cemetery, Wayne Family plot, 4:35 AM):

Bruce slowly approached the three graves. Two of them, his parents' names engraved on the tombstones. The third one was his own, unattended to after he crawled himself out of it days earlier.

Suddenly, the sharp, painful blade of images hit him, hurting him to the core. Images of Selina in danger, in hands of Falcone, his bodyguard, and the woman that was with him; the three that escaped his wrath at the warehouse. This must be the crow's sight allowing him this vision.

As his mind was brought back to reality, he automatically felt himself seething in rage. After all his work, there were still people still being a threat to HIS Selina!

He gazed his eyes back to the graves of his parents. While still seething in anger, he let a sigh of disappointment escape.

"Forgive me. But I have to."

He rushed towards the exit of the cemetery, running faster than he ever could, faster than he ever dreamed, heading towards where he was envisioning the crow's destination.

'Hang on, Selina. I won't leave until you're safe.'


	12. Chapter 12

The storm was raging outside Gotham Cathedral as Bruce pushed in the double doors. He walked in slowly, knowing that Falcone and his thugs were nearby with Selena. As he made his way to the front of the church, the crow flew in behind him and landed on the pew next to him. A shot rang out, and the crow fell to the floor flapping its wings, and finally becoming motionless. Bruce turned around to find the shooter, Zsasz, in the balcony.

At the back of the church, Falcone stood with a satisfied smile on his face. "A quick impression for you," he held his hands in the shape of a crow "caw, caw, bang, fuck, I'm dead."

"Give me Selena," Bruce said through his teeth "and I'll let you walk out of here."

He stared down at Bruce with a confused look. "Let me think about that," he said. He turned around and began walking toward the back of the church. Bruce looked down and noticed that his crow was still alive, but injured. It hid underneath the pew as Falcone turned around. "Aw fuck it," he said as he pulled out a pistol and shot Bruce in the arm.

Bruce stood there, shocked. But it wasn't the shock of being shot, it was because he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: pain.

"Aw fuck," Bruce said as he collapsed to the ground.

"What'd ya know? For a dead person, you bleed just fine." Falcone quipped

"Hey," Zsasz yelled "the bird is still alive."

"Then KILL it!" Falcone yelled.

A shot rang out, but the crow didn't die, Zsasz did. And at the man that was holding the smoking gun, was James Gordon. A firefight between Gordon and Falcone began as the church echoed with gunfire. Bruce dashed to the nearest open door, the doorway that led to the bell tower.

As the firefight continued on, Gordon manages to rush to Bruce's side at the doorway of the tower.

"Just came by to pay my respects, and here you are getting shot up." Gordon said, intending that to be a joke. Failure on the delivery.

"They've taken Selina." Bruce, remaining serious about the situation.

"How many?"

"Two more left. I can handle it, don't worry."

"I'm not worried, look here's the plan. You stay in front, and when they run out of ammo, I'll arrest them." Gordon had a look on his face, as he believed that to be a solid plan.

"That's a great plan. Just one thing." Bruce lifted his hand off his arm, revealing the large gaping bullet wound, that continued to gush blood like a geyser.

"Holy shit, you're bleeding all over the place. I thought, you know, that you were immortal or something." Gordon said irritated, his solid plan gone to nothing.

"I was. I'm not anymore." Bruce seethed frustrated.

"Guess you really do need my help."

The gunfire from the two criminals ceased as they moved up from the bell tower. As Bruce and Gordon entered, they saw Falcone move up towards the roof, dragging Selina along with him.

Mooney, remaining where she was in the staircase, armed with a beretta, and holding the crow in her other hand. She took aim for Bruce, opening fire...

Only for Gordon to rush in the way of the bullet, pushed backward into Bruce's arms.

"You were suppose to stay behind me." Bruce exclaimed, worried he was gonna have to do all of this alone.

"I think I messed up on that one" Gordon managing to cough up a quip, despite the situation.

Feeling nothing but anger, Bruce became determine to handle all of this. First they take and endanger Selina, and now they shot Jim. Bruce could practically hear a small voice chanting in his head; Tear them apart.

And the more and more he was beginning to like the sound of that.

He marched towards Mooney, confronting up the staircase. She again, aims the beretta, cocking back the hammer. She was feeling sure of herself.

"This is all the power you ever had. Now it is mine. Pity, there wasn't much time for us." She monologued

As it would appear that she would open fire, the crow escapes her grasp, immediately attacking her eyes with its sharp, pointed beak. One by one, each of her eyes being shoved backwards into head, blood rushing from the wounds being caused by the crow's jabs.

"Aaahh!"

She attempts to regain her balance by grabbing the rope of the church bell, yet fails. As she pulled on the rope, the church bell ranged and ranged, disrupting her balance even further, causing her to then fall down to the very bottom of the tower. Her screams echoed off around the tower, until she reached the bottom, they then ceased.

Bruce then proceeded to the roof of the cathedral, rushing to Selina's rescue. He just hoped he's not too late.

The storm was raging outside Gotham Cathedral as Bruce reached the rooftop. The rain pouring down as if an almighty God was angry. Bruce saw Falcone, standing with Selina firmly in his grasp, the upper half of his arms entrapping her by the throat. Bruce could see her eyes, filing with fear, her face turning a hint of blue due to the vice grip around her throat.

'This fiend must be stopped.' Were the thoughts of Bruce.

"Let her go! You can have me! I won't fight you"

"'Let her go'? Very poor choice of words." Falcone said, then grabbing ahold of Selina, tossing her off the roof!

"NOOO!"

Bruce was just about ready to jump after her, to produce some attempt of saving her. But then Bruce sees Falcone produce a long, sharp, and broad sword, charging at him.

Bruce evaded most of his slashes, only getting very few wounds from the blade, but they were no issue. Whatever caused him vulnerability earlier has ceased, allowing to heal the wounds instantly once more.

With all his might, Bruce ripped off from the roof of what appears to be a lightning conductor, using it as a pseudo-sword to fight back with. His conductor and Falcone would clash continuously. As Bruce raised his weapon for another strike, he felt Falcone's blade pierce his abdomen, causing him to fall down.

Seeing as to that Bruce was down, Falcone chose to stand over him, to take a moment to mock his fallen foe, this challenge before him.

"Ya know, my daddy used to say every man's got a devil. And you can't rest 'til you find him. What happened back there with you and your family - I ordered that hit. Hell, nothin' in this town happens without my say-so. Been that way in this city, for decades. So I'm sorry if I spoiled your childhood there, friend. But, if it's any consolation to you, you have put a smile on my face. "

As Bruce finally managed to remove the entire sword from his abdomen, Falcone kicked it out of his hands before he could do anything with it. As the wound healed, Bruce became just about fed up of this man's egoistic shit!

"I have something for you. I don't want it anymore!"

At that moment, Bruce immediately lunged himself up at Falcone, and began to shove his entire thumbs into Falcone's eyes. As the crime lord began to scream in agony, Bruce felt it. He could feel all the agonizing memories flow through his body and into Falcone's mind. Causing the man's screams to increase volume.

"All the pain! The pain you caused for this city! For my parents! For me! And for Selina! All at once, All for you!"

Bruce removing his thrusted thumbs from the man's skull, causing him to fall, due to having no strength left to even stand on his knees. As he fell, he landed upon one of the cathedral's gargoyles, impaled by the spiked stone horns.

As the rain continued to pour, and as his body continued to bleed, the cathedral began to look as if it had the raining of the rapture; a flooding rain of blood, baptizing the fallen crime lord, reborn as a corpse and victim.

"Selina..." Bruce gasped, recalling of Selina's fall.

He immediately down to the ground below him, rushing towards what appeared to be the lying body of his love one...

Bruce was so close, but he was too late. Selena fell, and she hit the ground with a thud. When Bruce got to her, Selena was already dead. His makeup was running off in the rain as he held Selena's corpse. "I'm sorry," Bruce said "I'm sorry that I was too late."

-A familiar face peaked out from behind a bush. "Isis?" Bruce asked. Isis was dripping wet, he knew that this was not normal. Isis leapt on top of Selena's chest and licked her lips. Selena's body started to tremble, and then her eyes shot open. Bruce noticed that her pupils were no longer round, they were slits.

"Bruce?" She asked, gathering herself up to him.

"Uh, yea..." Bruce was beyond belief. First, he was about to ball his eyes out, for her dead before his eyes. Next, his and Selina's old cat, comes out, bringing her back. What is going on?!

"Did I...just died?" She asked, her breath rising in a panicking fit. Even though her eyes were now slits, Bruce could still read the rise of heart rate in them.

"Yes..." Realizing that fact, that the love of his life, his reason for living, had practically just died before him, he embraced her, emitting her into a passionate kiss. Enough passion that one could see the emotion behind it.

As Bruce removed his lips from hers, she flashes that cute smile of hers; a smile while winking both eyes of hers. Although her smile quickly vanished, a small hint of anguish filling her eyes.

"Bruce," Selena said "why did you come back?"

"I thought that after my revenge was complete," he explained "I thought that I would ascend into Heaven. But when you were kidnapped by Falcone, I felt a new purpose."

"And what was that?" Selena asked.

"It was you," he said "you were the one that I came back for. After I killed the four, I felt like I accomplished nothing. But when I killed Cobbelpot, that was when I felt renewed. When I saw the terrible things that he had done to you, and when I finally killed him, I felt a sense of justice. But it wasn't for me, it was for you. And when Falcone shot me and I thought that I was going to die again, I thought 'I can't die now, I can't have Selena loosing me twice'. The truth is, I love you Selena. Oh God, I love you so much." He concludes his speech by bringing her in for a deep, passionate kiss.

She practically torn his head off, shoving her mouth into his, transferring every bit of passion, every ounce of strength in her body into Bruce's mouth. As he would do the same to her.

Selina then ceased her powerful embrace of love, for her nose began acting up, entrancing the smell of the rain, men's cologne, and...blood?

"Do you smell blood, Bruce?" She asked, turning her head towards the cathedral, following the trail of the smell.

Bruce's eyes widened in realization.

"Oh crap, Gordon!"

Bruce took off running towards the cathedral, Selina following him. They both rushed, striving to head towards Gordon, before he would eventually bleed out.

As the two had burst through the the doors, heading towards the entrance of the bell tower, they found Gordon, partially bleeding out, most of the blood being coughed up from his mouth like an ulcer, while he would remain struggling for breathing.

"Help him." Bruce commanded, Selina helping him lifting Gordon up onto his feet, dragging and placing him in one of the booths.

"Are you alive?" Selina asked, partially joking.

"God I need a cigarette." Was his response, obtaining a giggle out of the two children. As Gordon put a menthol cigarette in between his lips, Bruce assisted him with the lighter in lightening it.

"Everybody else dead?" He asked as he continued to inhale from the cigarette.

"Yep." Bruce spoke, choosing not to tell Bruce about Selina's resurrection. He gave Selina a look and could tell she got the message.

"Good", he then spit out the menthol, making a face of grimace,

"Oh yuck! I'm quitting as of now- if I live that is."

And at that moment, the sirens of an ambulance and the police pierced the silence surrounding them.

"By the sounds of that, you just might." Bruce said partially joking

"He'll be okay, right? Bruce?" Selina turned herself to her right, only to see that Bruce was gone.

"Does that a lot" was Gordon's primary response.

"I have a good idea where he might have gone to. I'm gonna get going before they show up, ok?" Selina said, Gordon giving her a nod of approval.

As she swiftly scurried off to the darkness within the cathedral, paramedics and major Flass burst through the front doors.

"I don't believe it! This catastrophe your fault Jimmy?!" Flass exclaimed as the paramedics propped Gordon onto the stretcher.

"For Christ sake, Flass, bite me. And by the way, your vigilante was on the roof. And you just missed him."

Flass wore a face of shock, which swiftly changed into a face of irritation.

"Get him out of here" He ordered the paramedics, who then carried off Gordon to the ambulance. Gordon, who was wearing a smirk of triumph.

(Meanwhile at the cave below the Wayne estate):

As Selina entered her and Bruce's childhood play area, she saw Bruce standing in the center of the cave, looking as if he was taking it all in.

"You know, it's very rude to run off on a girl on the first date" She quipped.

"I wouldn't consider rescuing you from a crime boss and murdering anyone else in the way, as our "first date" Bruce said, sarcasm lacing his tone.

"What can I say? You've always known I'm attracted to excitement" Selina purred

"I'm just glad it's over with" Bruce said, as the crow suddenly flew off from his shoulder to the hole at the ceiling of the cave, illuminated by the furious flashes of lightning from the raging storm.

"Where's it going, Bruce?"

"Probably wherever it came from. I'm not so sure..." Suddenly Bruce felt sharp pains of sounds and images piercing his mind. Sounds of screams, agonizing cries, along terrorizing images: violence, blood, women and children being harmed.

"Bruce, what's wrong?!" Selina attempted to grab ahold of his arm, only to see and hear the sounds and images. Screams and images of girls selling their bodies on the streets, injecting themselves with needles, being forced down...

"Aaaah! Make it stop Bruce!" She screamed in agony, and attempted

to suffocate the unendurable pain by clenching her fist around a stagnate of the cave. When she let go, her and Bruce looked at her palms, and saw two large wounds miraculously heal, close and disappear in a few seconds.

"Wow. Guess we have more in common now" quipped Bruce

"Yeah. But what the fuck was that? Those...people" Selina began to look frantic. Fear and anguish filled her eyes, like a child getting their first taste of a serious situation.

"If I didn't think any better...Gotham, perhaps." Bruce said, skepticism wavering as he spoke.

"Gotham?" Selina questioned

"All those sounds, all those images. They all sound and look like things and events you'd see in this city."

"That's so...sad." Selina looked down in sadness and shame.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked becoming concerned.

"All those people. So much suffering, so much pain. It all reminds me of my time on the streets." She spoke, tears leaking from her eyes.

Bruce embraced in a firm hug, comforting and reassuring. Placing his hand on her chin, directing her to look him in the eyes.

"Maybe...they don't have to suffer."

"What?" Her eyes widening in surprise, the tears beginning to cease.

"Selina, the dark half of this forsaken city has taken so much from us. Our parents, innocence, and even our parents. And it's continuing to do the same to others. And perhaps with these...gifts of ours, we can end that suffering."

"Y-you serious?" She asked, feeling a mix of surprise and skepticism that this is coming from Bruce.

"Selina, I want to be with you for the rest of my life. But I know I can't live anywhere else but Gotham. It is our home. And I live with you in our home in peace." He preached with such tenderness, it moved her heart so.

She kissed him with such passion, the kinda kiss that defines eternal love. She too wanted a life with Bruce, and also knew she wouldn't adapt to live anywhere else. So, she knew he was right.

"Let's do it. But one question."

"What?" Bruce asked

"Do you really love me, Bruce?"

Bruce couldn't help but smirk, and let out a chuckle at the question. Selina didn't know whether or not that was a good sign.

"Selina, I do love you. More than I could put into words. You want me to say it again? I love you. Want it backwards? You love I. And you have seen what actions I will go to make sure you're safe. That answer your question?" He preached, every word spoken with firmness and passion.

She could only nod and silent cry tears of happiness. She embraced him with a powerful hug and passionate kiss. She took her time with this kiss, lasting every second, not letting him go, until he would decide their lips would part.

"I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life." She purred

"Judging by what's happen so far, you and I are probably gonna last forever." Bruce smiled, admiring every aspect of her form.

"I love you, Bruce".

"I love you, Selina".


	13. Chapter 13

(Ten years later in Gotham...):

-Bruce put on his robe and went to the bathroom. Before entering, he looked back at the woman lying in his bed; her beautiful features momentarily hypnotized the man, and then he continued to walk to the bathroom. He turned the nob of the sink and washed his face.  
-"Crow," a grunted voice spoke from the shadows.  
-Bruce reached for his knife that was under the sink, but it wasn't there. "Found knife, removed it, I have it," the voice spoke.  
-"Who are you?" Bruce asked.  
-The man stepped out of the shadows; he wore a brown trench-coat with a brown hat, he also wore a white mask with black markings that changed every few seconds, and he was holding Bruce's knife. "Rorschach," he said bluntly.


End file.
